Heir of Dracula
by ZenoNoKyuubi
Summary: In 1895, the last time he was defeated, Count Dracula made a prophecy. His legacy would live on in the boy of lightning... His four mistresses set out on a quest to find this boy, and finds him in the boy known as Harry Potter... Rated M for Gore later on. Vampire!Godlike!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome, one and all, to another Harry Potter fanfic by yours truly! This time, we explore a Godlike!Vampire!Harry, and his growth into the perfect heir of Dracula! Harold will have powers from such vampires as Alucard from Hellsing, Dracula from Bram Stoker's novel, and Rai from Noblesse. Please Read & Review!**

–

–**1895–**

_The venerable Count Vlad III Dracula lay in a pool of his own blood, which was soaking into the red velvet-carpeted stairs leading up to his throne, his bone-white hair splayed around his head as he coughed weakly. A wooden stake was sticking out of his chest, having pierced his un-beating heart._

"My Lord..."_ came a whispered as out of the shadows crawled a very beautiful woman with long, black hair, and a heart-shaped face, wearing a long, blood-red dress. Three more women, looking identical to the first one, only wearing dresses of different colors, one black, one green, and the last one dark blue, came crawling out of the shadows, toward the dying Dracula._

"Curse those that foul Morris..."_ the black-dressed woman said, hissing in rage. _"I wouldst tear his heart out..."

"My ladies..."_ Dracula coughed weakly, reaching up to stroke the green-dressed woman's cheek. _"My vision darkens... I fear I shall not return from this final death..."

"Master?"_ the red-dressed woman said, blinking in shock. _"What do you mean?"

"This was the final time, I fear..."_ Dracula mumbled. _"My mind and body are destroyed now, completely... But my powers and my spirit live on. You shall find me in a new incarnation... Look for me... in my heir, the boy of lightning..."

_With that, Dracula drew his final breath, slowly dissolving into dust, leaving the four identical women to cry over his ashes._

–**1982–**

"_This is it, Number Four, Privet Drive..."_ a woman wearing a long, flowing red dress said, standing next to an identical-looking woman wearing a blue dress. The blue-dressed woman clicked her teeth.

"_Awfully neat, aren't they, these humans?"_ she asked as she looked over the lawn, which was perfectly mowed, and the car was spotless, not a speck of dust on it. Shrugging, the two made their way across the lawn and knocked on the door rather loudly, not caring that it was just after midnight.

The door opened, revealing a morbidly obese man with a walrus mustache, who looked newly awoken and was glaring heatedly at the two women.

"Whatever you're selling, I don't want it! Aren't you capable of telling the time, women?" he barked angrily, and the red-dressed woman smirked.

"Now, now, don't be like that," she purred, her thick, Romanian accent easily heard. "Wouldn't a gentleman invite two innocent women into his home on such a dark and dreary night?"

The fat man's eyes glazed over, and slowly he nodded, stepping to the side to allow the two women inside.

"Of course. Come on in..." he mumbled, and the two women smirked wider, stepping over the threshold.

"_There's too much fat on him. No use wasting a bite on that,"_ the red-dressed woman said. _"Aleera, will you do the honors?"_

"_Of course, Verona,"_ the blue-dressed woman, Aleera, said happily as she reached over to the fat man's head, and then promptly snapped his neck. The man crumpled to the ground with an audible thud. Verona chuckled as she heard noise coming from upstairs, including the cries of a child. She sniffed the air once, then looked to the cupboard under the stairs leading up to the second floor. She made a gesture with her hand.

"_Aleera, go feast. I will find our new Lord."_

Aleera gave a very childish giggle, then rushed up the stairs, surprisingly silent, as she looked to be taking very heavy steps. A scream was heard from upstairs, but it was quickly silenced, and Verona moved over to the cupboard, opening it to show a baby laying in a very old crib, which looked like it could barely even hold itself up. The baby had a tuft of raven black hair, and a pair of stunning, blood-red eyes, but that wasn't what Verona noticed first about the boy. What she noticed first was the scar on the boy's forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt.

"_Oh, my Lord,"_ Verona whispered as she reached down, picking up the baby. _"How have these horrible mortals been treating you?"_

The child made a pleased noise as it reached its tiny arms out for Verona's long hair, hoping to get a new plaything.

Aleera came down the stairs, wiping her mouth.

"_That baby was positively delicious,"_ Aleera purred in satisfaction. Then, she noticed the baby in Verona's hands and immediately made her way over, an ecstatic look on her face. _"Oh, he looks absolutely adorable!"_ she cooed, waving her finger in front of the baby, who laughed. _"This is him, right? I can feel his power."_

"_This is him,"_ Verona said with a nod. _"Let us leave. I can feel powerful wards around this place. Someone will surely come to investigate soon."_

–**1991–**

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and the only man the Dark Lord Voldemort had ever feared, could not suppress a shiver that crept up his spine as he stared at the dark, imposing castle further up the path he was on.

The castle was almost as grand as Hogwarts, but not nearly as welcoming. The grounds were littered with pikes stabbed into the ground, on which hundreds of skeletons were hanging, impaled.

Never in all his hundred and ten years of life had Dumbledore ever imagined that he would one day wander the path leading up to the imposing and terrifying Castle Dracula, once home to Count Vlad 'Tepes' Dracula...

However, the owl had come here, the owl sent to one Harry Potter, who was thought to have been lost forever. But when the post owls had been sent out, and the ancient magic of Hogwarts had deemed it necessary to send out young Harry's acceptance letter, Dumbledore was overwhelmed with curiosity, and decided to track the owl.

The owl had brought him all the way to Transylvania, where Castle Dracula stood.

When Dumbledore reached the large oak ebony doors of the castle, he reached up and grabbed the thick, black iron knocker, which was hanging from the mouth of an iron dragon head bolted to the door.

He knocked three times, then waited. Was the castle abandoned, perchance? However, if it was, why had the owl come there? And if it was truly abandoned, then why did the villagers in the small village further down the road speak with such fear of the Devil Child that lived in the castle?

Suddenly, the door slowly opened with a loud creak, and a face showed itself in the doorway. It was that of a beautiful woman, with long, black hair, and a beautiful, heart-shaped face, wearing a long, blood red silk dress. She eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

"_Yes_?" she spoke in Romanian, and Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"_Good evening, my dear lady. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore from England_," he spoke, also in Romanian.

"English?" the woman said curiously, but still staring suspiciously at Dumbledore. "What is an Englishman doing all the way out here, I wonder? Here to seek fame and fortune, are you?"

"No, actually, I am looking for someone," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "A boy, by the name of Harry Potter?"

If the woman was surprised to hear that name, she didn't show it. Instead, her eyes slowly drifted shut, and she took a deep breath, appearing thoughtful for a moment. Then, her eyes snapped open, and she nodded, stepping back and opening the door even further.

"My Lord will see you," she spoke, giving a small bow at the waist. Dumbledore bowed back, then stepped inside.

If the outside of the castle had been dreary, it was nothing compared to the inside. Dimly lit by torches in rusty brackets, Dumbledore could hardly even see anything in the castle, except for the long, scarlet carpet leading up a set of stairs. The entrance hall was shrouded in darkness, but the woman, leading Dumbledore up the stairs, maneuvered with an ease that Dumbledore couldn't match, tripping over a step here and there.

Up, up, up they went, up staircase after staircase, until finally, they reached a room that looked very much like a cathedral. It was long, the ceiling was so high that you couldn't see it in the dim lights coming from the torches on the walls, along with three chandeliers that were hanging from the dark ceiling by thick chains.

At the end of the hall stood a throne, with a backrest nearly thirty feet high. It was intricately carved, with jagged spikes and curves on it, along with many tiny details carved into the wood.

In the throne sat a young boy, with messy, jet black hair, and pale skin, wearing a pair of black leather shoes, black slacks, and a long-sleeved, red silk shirt. The boy's eyes were closed, but Dumbledore immediately recognized him by the hair as the son of James and Lily Potter.

As Dumbledore and the woman approached him, the boy's eyes slowly opened, and Dumbledore was startled to see that they were red as blood, with slits for pupils.

"My Lord," the woman said with a deep bow as they reached the throne. "Professor Albus Dumbledore from England," she introduced, and the boy nodded.

"Thank you, Verona," the boy spoke with a Romanian accent. The woman gave another bow, before retreating into the shadows, and the boy turned his attention to Dumbledore. "You have come a long way from home just to see me, Professor," he said, humming. "What brings you to my castle?"

"First, I would like to ask you a question, if it is not too rude to ignore yours?" Dumbledore said, raising a silvery eyebrow, and the boy shook his head, gesturing for Dumbledore to continue. "Are you Harry Potter?"

"Ah," the boy breathed. "That's twice in one day that I am referred to by that name, for the first time in nine years..." he whispered as he reached into his pocket, taking out an envelope. He waved it to bring Dumbledore's attention to it. "This came for me today, and it was only thanks to this that I allowed you to enter my castle. A letter of invitation to enroll at a magical school known as Hogwarts..."

Dumbledore smiled good-naturedly. "I fear, my boy, that you have failed to answer my question."

"As you have failed to answer mine, and I did pose my question first," the boy countered easily. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes, I suppose that is true. I am here to find one Harry James Potter, and I believe that is you."

"Then you are mistaken, Professor," the boy said coldly. "I have not gone by the name Harry Potter for nine years. I am now known as Count Harold Dracula, Lord of House Dracul."

"But you were once Harry Potter?"

"Once," the boy, Harold, admitted with a nod. "And now you are here to ask me to enroll in the school that you are apparently headmaster of?"

"Indeed so," Dumbledore said with a nod.

"Interesting..." Harold said, leaning his head against his fist, his elbow resting against the armrest of the throne. "That sounds very interesting, Professor, as I have not set foot outside this castle for a very long time... Is there any manner of dress code in this school of yours?"

"I think you will find the details in your letter, Count Dracula," Dumbledore said simply.

"Pardon me, then," Harold said as he opened the envelope and read through the contents of the letter. Dumbledore feared for the worst when he saw Harold's nose wrinkling in disgust. "What is this? Plain black robes? A pointed hat?" he asked, looking over the letter at Dumbledore. "Surely, you cannot be serious. I refuse to be seen wearing something so dreadful as robes and a pointed hat. If I cannot wear my usual clothing, I will not set foot inside this school of yours."

"But surely, Harold, you can endure for the sake of a proper magical education?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling merrily at Harold, who kept frowning.

"No."

"Pardon?"

"I said no, Professor Dumbledore," Harold said simply. "I refuse to wear your horrid clothing."

"Well..." Dumbledore hummed. He really wanted Harold at Hogwarts. It was for Harold's own good. If he wouldn't come... "I am sure I can make an exception for you, Count Dracula. I will make sure the teachers know that you are allowed to wear your own clothes, so that you will not be harassed when you arrive."

Harold raised an eyebrow, peering curiously at Dumbledore. Then, however, he nodded.

"Good."

–

With a crack, Dumbledore appeared outside the wards of Hogwarts and made his way up the dirt path to the castle, sighing to himself. So... the rumors were true... Lily Potter had been distantly related to Vlad Tepes, and now, Harold's vampire blood had awoken...

There was no way Dumbledore could pin the crime on that woman that had shown him in, so Dumbledore wouldn't even try. He would, however, try to get Harold to see that the path of good was the path to walk in this life, vampire or not.

It was the whispers of the Devil Child that had Dumbledore concerned, though. Had Harold already started down a dark path, or was it merely superstition from the villagers?

Either way, Dumbledore would have to keep a close eye on Harold when the boy arrived at the school, and not fail like he had failed Tom.

Meanwhile, at Castle Dracula, Count Harold Dracula stood on a balcony near the top of the castle, looking over the impaled skeletons on the grounds. Although he was eleven, he looked to be closer to thirteen years of age, standing tall and proud. He leaned against the railing of the balcony and sighed.

Should he go? At times like this, he cursed the fact that his ancestors were all dead, Dracula, Alucard...

Sure, he had his four mother figures, but they weren't exactly the people he'd go to for problems such as these. They'd all tell him to go to this Hogwarts, but for reasons other than learning. Aleera would want him to go and seduce and bite beautiful females. Verona would want him to go to become even more powerful. Marishka would want him to go to have fun and be a normal boy, and finally Eleesia would want him to go to instil fear in the hearts of everyone around him like his ancestor.

Granted, those were all pretty damn good reasons to go...

"_I'm not going to mumble to myself, so there's no point in listening at the door,_"he spoke suddenly. He turned to see the quadruplets step out onto the balcony, all of them still wearing clothing of their favorite color.

"_Thou art omnipotent, like thy ancestor,_" Marishka spoke, wearing a very low-cut, black dress that stopped at mid-thigh.

"_It is good to see that your magic is fully merged with the wards of the castle,_" Aleera said, still wearing blue a blue dress, which was from the Victorian era.

"_Have you decided?_" Verona asked, and Harold nodded.

"_Yes. I shall go to this... Hogwarts..._" The very name left Harold feeling disgusted. Who named their school Hogwarts, anyway? "_You will need to take me to a place called Diagon Alley. My sources inform me that one can buy magical supplies there. It's in London, England._"

"_Why there, my Lord?_" Verona asked. "_Why not some place closer to home?_"

Harold slowly turned to Verona and stared coldly into her eyes.

"_Because I said so, that's why._"

Verona flinched and gulped, raising her hands in a defensive manner, an apologetic look on her face.

"_R-Right. Forgive me, my Lord..._"

Harold just hummed as he turned his back on the quadruplets, staring down at the grounds once more.

"_However, I believe I shall acquire my wand a bit closer to home..._"

–

"I sense a problem," Verona spoke as she and Harold stood in front of the barrier between platforms nine and ten. There was no nine and three-quarters anywhere in sight.

"Knowing wizards, it is no doubt hidden, but how do they expect Muggle-borns to know this?" Harold asked, sighing. He now wore a white silk shirt under his long, high-collared cloak (the same cloak his ancestor Dracula had once worn), complete with a blood red tie that matched his eyes, black slacks, and black shoes. Then, his sensitive ears picked up on a voice.

"Now, remember, Dumbledore said that Harry Potter would no doubt be clueless as to how to get to the platform, and it's our job to show it to him," came a woman's voice, which made Harold raise an eyebrow. Then, the woman's voice came again, this time louder. "And this place is packed with Muggles, of course... Now, what's the platform number?"

Harold took a look at them. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk in front of him, and they had an owl.

"Nine and three-quarters!" a small girl, also red-headed, piped, holding the woman's hand "Mum, can't I go...?"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. Alright, Percy, you go first."

"Pay close attention," Harold told Verona as they stared at the oldest boy, who marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harold watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it... but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and Verona, and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said, looking around.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," the boy said. "Honesty, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you _tell_ I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," the boy said, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone... but how?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier... he was almost there... and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

"A magical gateway, perhaps?" Harold muttered to Verona, who nodded. Harold hummed and walked up to the plump woman, saying, "Pardon me, madam?"

"Hello, dear," the woman said, looking relieved when she saw him. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose, not even nearly possessing the same aristocratic beauty Harold possessed.

"Madam, perchance, could you tell me-" Harold started, but was interrupted by the woman.

"How to get onto the platform?" she interrupted rudely, and Harold, instead of resorting to angrily chiding her for interrupting him, nodded. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Thank you, madam. Verona."

Verona nodded, and the two of them started walking toward the barrier, Verona pushing Harold's trolley in front of her. People jostled them on their way to platforms nine and ten. As he reached the barrier, Harold slowly closed his eyes, stepping right through it. He opened his eyes again.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said _Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock_. Harold looked behind him and saw Verona passing through a wrought-iron archway where the barrier was, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harold walked down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, _Neville_," he heard the old woman sigh.

Harold pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He and Verona lifted his trunk into the compartment, and once inside, he effortlessly lifted it up on the overhead rack, before leaning out the window.

"Verona, I'm putting you in charge until I return over the Christmas holidays," he told her, and she leaned up on her tippy-toes to kiss Harold on the cheek.

"Have fun, my Lord. Grow stronger and stronger until even the Belmonts would have a hard time against you, should there be any of them left," Verona said, smiling brightly up at Harold. With a wave, she turned and walked away, and Harold sat down, closing his eyes and tuning out the noises coming from outside.

A whistle blew, and about a minute later, the train began to move. Soon enough the platform was out of sight, and houses flashed past the window. Harold hummed to himself. He had no idea where he was going, but if need be, he could use the creatures of the night to guide him back home.

The door of the compartment slid open, and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harold. "Everywhere else is full."

Harold shook his head, and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harold, and then looked quickly out the window, pretending he hadn't looked. So, he knew who Harold was, then? Someone hoping to cash in on Harold's fame? Perhaps Harry Potter, raised at the Muggles he was at until he was two would have allowed that, but not Harold Dracula, Heir to the House of Dracul!

"I'm..." the redhead started, but seemed to hesitate when Harold's blood red eyes locked with his own. "I'm Ron, by the way... Ron Weasley. N-Nice to meet you."

"Harold Dracula," Harold said, making Weasley's eyes widen.

"Oh, I thought..."

"You believed me to be Harry Potter?" Harold asked, and Wealsey's eyes widened again in surprise. "Once, perhaps, but I was taken in by a new family, and raised as the Heir to the House of Dracul. I have no connection to the name Harry Potter anymore."

"Have you really got... you know...?"

"What?"

"The scar?"

Harold pulled back his bangs to show his lightning scar. Weasley stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who...?"

"Who? Voldemort?" Harold asked, seeing Weasley flinch in fear.

"You said his name!" Weasley hissed, and Harold raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Yes?"

"I thought you, of all people... How can you say his name?"

"It's merely a name, and to fear it is foolish," Harold said, shaking his head. This boy was a complete mess. Robes that smelled old, big ears, hands, feet, a long nose, too many freckles, no beauty whatsoever, possessing none of Harold's grace, elegance, looks, or personality. He was horrible, in Harold's opinion.

"This family, the House of Dracul... are they magical?" Weasley asked, apparently trying to find a different subject where he wouldn't be called a fool.

"Something like that," Harold said with a smirk.

"I have an all-magical family," Weasley said, suddenly looking gloomy. "Five brothers. I'm the sixth in the family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I have a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left. Bill was head boy, and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good mark and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Weasley reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat, gray rat, which was asleep.

"His name is Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff... I mean, I got Scabbers instead.

Weasley's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out the window. Harold, however, was just staring at the rat. He felt no connection to this rat. He had a great mental bond with all the creatures of the night, bats, rats, wolves... He could sense their presence, talk to them, and command them, but he sensed nothing from this rat...

While Weasley had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harold, happy to have a distraction, rose from his seat, but Weasley's ears went pink again, and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harold went out into the corridor.

"Madam, I have heard of a treat, called blood-flavored lollipops. Have you such a treat?"

The woman smiled. "I'm sorry, dear, that's only sold in Honeydukes in Hogsmeade."

Harold nodded. "Ah well. I am sorry to have bothered you, then." And with a bow of his head, he made his way into the compartment again, where Weasley had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled on of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

As time passed, the countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment, and the round-faced boy Harold had passed on the platform came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me! Well, if you see him..."

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," Weasley said. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

"Indeed," Harold said, glancing at the curious rat snoozing in Weasley's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," Weasley said in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway..."

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a very bossy tone of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth, but there was a certain charm to her appearance that left Harold attracted to her.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Weasley said, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Weasley looked taken aback.

"Er... alright..." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard... I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough... I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said all this very fast.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Weasley muttered.

"Count Harold Dracula, Heir to the House of Dracul," Harold introduced, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. "Charmed. It's always such a pleasure to meet a fellow intellectual."

A bit of red made its way onto Hermione's face, and she looked very flattered.

"Oh..." she breathed. "S-So, what House do you think you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad..."

"No, it wouldn't," Harold said with a smirk, staring deeply into Hermione's eyes, making her go redder.

"W-Well, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it," Ronald said. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell... George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione returned within minutes, looking happy to see Harold again.

"Can we help you?" Weasley asked.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there."

"They are absolute fools if they think I will ever be caught dead wearing British-made cotton and wool clothing," Harold said simply.

"Would you mind leaving while I change?" Weasley asked, scowling at Hermione.

"Alright. I only came in here because..." Hermione cast a glance at Harold, before clearing her throat "...because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," she said in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Harold liked this girl.

–

The door to the entrance hall swung open, revealing a tall, dark-haired witch in emerald-green robes. She had a very stern face, and did not look like someone one wanted to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the giant Hagrid said. Although he wasn't a real giant. Harold had several of them in his castle, and they were at the very least twice as tall as Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit a whole house in it, but it wasn't as big as the entrance hall of Castle Dracula. In fact, he was sure that the entire castle and more could fit inside Castle Dracula. Having seen this disappointing entrance hall, Harold was sure he was going to be disappointed by the library, too. Although, he was impressed with how the ceiling was too high to make out, and with the magnificent marble staircase facing them, leading to the upper floors. Harold's stairs were made from onyx.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harold could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, but McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, most of them peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Hosues are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Weasley's smudged nose.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," McGonagall said. "Please wait quietly."

Pretty much everyone around Harold were looking terrified. No one was talking much, except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need.

"How foolish," he whispered to himself with a light scoff. They behaved as thought they would face some sort of test, but why would anyone be stupid enough to test someone who had only just truly entered the magical world? It was just stupid to think that they would have to do anything that involved magical knowledge, and even if they would, Harold wasn't concerned. He was more than capable of handling anything they'd throw at him.

Then something happened that made several people behind him scream in fright. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance..."

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost... I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had just noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" the Fat Friar said, smiling around at them. "About to the Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the Friar said "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," a sharp voice said. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. Harold wasn't shocked at the sight. In Castle Dracula, there were ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists, all manner of horrors.

"Now, form a line," McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Harold got into line behind a sandy-haired boy, with Hermione right behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harold had to admit that he was very impressed with the Great Hall. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Harold looked up and saw the thing that impressed him the most: a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

It was hard to believe that there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harold looked down again as McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence as everyone stared at the hat. Then, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

"_**Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,**_

_**But don't judge on what you see,**_

_**I'll eat myself if you can find**_

_**A smarter hat than me.**_

_**You can keep your bowlers black,**_

_**Your top hats sleek and tall,**_

_**For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat**_

_**And I can cap them all.**_

_**There's nothing hidden in your head**_

_**The Sorting Hat can't see,**_

_**So try me on and I will tell you**_

_**Where you ought to be.**_

_**You might belong in Gryffindor,**_

_**Where dwell the brave at heart,**_

_**Their daring, nerve, and chivalry**_

_**Set Gryffindors apart;**_

_**You might belong in Hufflepuff,**_

_**Where they are just and loyal,**_

_**Those patient Hufflepuffs are true**_

_**And unafraid of toil;**_

_**Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,**_

_**If you've a ready mind,**_

_**Where those of wit and learning,**_

_**Will always find their kind;**_

_**Or perhaps in Slytherin**_

_**You'll make your real friends,**_

_**Those cunning folk use any means**_

_**To achieve their ends.**_

_**So put me on! Don't be afraid!**_

_**And don't get in a flap!**_

_**You're in safe hands (though I have none)**_

_**For I'm a Thinking Cap!"**_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause...

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harold saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time, and several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them."

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harold could see Weasley's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. They truly looked like an unpleasant bunch. Harold smirked.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harold noticed, the hat shouted the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired bot next to Harold in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted, and Weasley, further down the line, groaned.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Draco Malfoy, a boy with a pale, pointed face and blond hair, swaggered forward when his name was called and the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"..., then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perkes, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last...

"Potter-Dracula, Harold!"

As Harold stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

"Dracula? The house of Vlad the Impaler?"

The last thing Harold saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second, he was looking at the black inside of the hat.

"Hmm," a small voice said in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, and knowledge, centuries worth of it, oh my goodness, yes... and a nice thirst to prove yourself... Plenty of cunning... Where do I place you?"

_Is that not something for you to decide?_ Harold thought, only to hear a chuckle.

"Oh, I am always interested in hearing the student's opinion."

_Place me wherever,_ Harold thought in boredom. _I do not rightly care._

"Very well. Better be... SLYTHERIN!"

Harold heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and strode with an air of confidence toward the Slytherin table. The entire hall was quiet. Then, Draco Malfoy started clapping, followed by who Harold recognized from being Sorted earlier as Crabbe and Goyle, probably only applauding because Malfoy did so. Then, the whole Slytherin table slowly started clapping.

"Welcome to Slytherin," Malfoy said as Harold sat down next to him.

"Thank you. I am Harold Dracula," Harold said, holding out his hand, which Malfoy shook with a smirk on his face.

"Draco Malfoy. I think you will find in this school, Dracula, that there are some families that are better than others. I can help you with that."

Harold just hummed, smirking slightly.

–

**So, what do you think of the first chapter? Drop a review and let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we finish the first year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

Harold stood tall, his head held high, as he looked around the dark and dank Slytherin common room, a dungeon-like room with greenish lamps and chairs. This dungeon seemed to extend partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room had lots of low-backed black and dark green leather sofas with buttons, skulls, and dark wood cupboards. It had quite a grand atmosphere, but also quite a cold one. It was perfect.

Harold seemed to have done something against someone's expectations, as he was right now the focus of every single student in the common room. The bigger students were glaring at him threateningly, while the younger ones were simply staring at him in disbelief.

"Lookie here, guys," a tall, and relatively muscular boy with large teeth, shifty gray eyes, and coarse black hair said. He looked to be in his sixth year, and looked incredibly stupid. "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived himself, here in Slytherin."

The older students behind the muscular boy started chuckling stupidly, and Harold raised an elegant eyebrow.

"I must ask you, peon, that you never call me by that name again. My name is Harold Dracula."

"What did you call me?" the boy growled out, taking a threatening step forward.

"I called you a peon, you peon," Harold said simply, a hint of a smirk making its way onto his face. "Now, kneel and beg for forgiveness for calling me Harry Potter."

"Like-"

"I said, kneel," Harold said forcefully. The boy's eyes widened as it looked as though the weight of the world suddenly appeared on his shoulders, and he was forced to kneel before Harold, much to the surprise of the students in the common room. "That's better. Now, apologize. Apologize to your Lord."

"I'm..." the boy gritted out reluctantly through gritted teeth. It looked like he was trying to force himself not to speak. "I'm... sorry... my Lord..."

"Good," Harold said, a dark smirk on his face. "You may stand."

Immediately, the boy shot to his feet, stumbling back into his friends behind him.

"What did you do?" the boy demanded.

"I merely gave you a command, and you obeyed, like a good little puppet," Harold said with an eerie calm in his voice. He looked over the other students, from first-years to seventh-years. "I am in charge around here, is that perfectly clear to everyone?"

Immediately, the older students started protesting, but Harold just sighed, and gave them all sharp looks.

"All of you, kneel!" he ordered, and immediately, the entire Slytherin common room was kneeling at Harold's feet. Harold smirked. "That's better. Was that so hard?"

"I can't move!" a first-year girl exclaimed in a panic, stuck in a kneeling position.

"Of course," Harold said simply. "I haven't given you permission to rise." He stood in silence for a while, looking over the students. Then, he smirked again. "You may rise."

The students shot to their feet immediately, and Harold pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to the first-year dormitory.

Once in the dormitory, which was just as dark as the common room, with five ebony four-poster beds that had emerald green, velvety curtains, Harold moved to the bed that had his trunk at the foot of it, and undressed, getting dressed in his blood red silk pajamas.

Just as Harold sat down on his bed, the door opened, and in came Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin first-year boys, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott.

"How did you do that?" Malfoy asked immediately as he plopped down on the bed next to Harold's. "I couldn't even move!"

"It's simple," Harold said. "When a lesser animal faces a greater predator, the animal, out of self-preservation, by instinct does what it can to appease the predator, in order to not get eaten."

"I've heard stories about you," Malfoy said, leaning forward. "They say you're a descendant of Dracula, the wild berserker, who impaled people and roasted them, boiled their heads in a kettle, skinned them alive, hacked them to pieces, and then drank their blood..."

"You heard right," Harold said with a smirk. "Does that scare you?"

"Is it true that you live forever? Normal vampires don't live forever, despite what those silly Muggle stories say, but Dracula... he was said to be special... Was it true? Was he immortal?"

"No one is immortal," Harold said simply. Then, he smirked wider. "However, some are better at escaping death than others."

Draco Malfoy gave a grin that held untold amounts of greed.

"I think you and I are going to enjoy a long and profitable friendship, Count Dracula," he said, extending his hand, which Harold slowly reached out to shake.

"So do I, Mr. Malfoy... So do I."

–

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the kid with the blond hair."

"Wearing the cape?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harold from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. Rumors seemed to already have spread about his amazing powers, about how he made the entire Slytherin House bow to him on the very first day of school. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tip-toe to get a look at him, or double back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.

The staircases of Hogwarts, most all hundred and forty-two of them, were very annoying to him. Some led somewhere different on a Friday, some had a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump, and then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. Harold was used to the last one, as he had that in his castle, but the rest... He'd gladly take the monsters of Castle Dracula over Hogwarts any day.

Peeves the Poltergeist had been annoying the first few days, but he was quick to avoid Harold whenever he approached ever since Harold gave him a scar on the cheek. He was now terrified of the only person who had ever been capable of harming him. The other ghosts were also a bit scared of Harold because of that incident. Because if he could do that to a poltergeist, what could he do to them? None of them wanted to find out.

Worst of all by far was the caretaker, the hideous Argus Filch. Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the annoying Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

The classes were all too easy to Harold, who aced his first lessons in Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Herbology, and even History of Magic. In Transfiguration, Harold was the only one other than Hermione from Gryffindor to have made any changes to his match, which he was to transfigure into a needle.

The class that most of the students, save for the Slytherins, had been looking forward to, Defense Against the Dark Arts, turned out to be a joke. Quirrell's classroom smelled strongly of garlic, something Harold couldn't stand, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania, and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but Harold didn't believe the story for a second. If the zombies around the rest of the world were the same as the zombies in his castle, there was no way Quirrell could have defeated it.

On Friday, Harold, who had discovered a secret passageway straight into to Honeydukes basement in Hogsmeade, was sucking on a blood-flavored lollipop and asked Draco what interesting classes they had that day.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," Draco said, looking over their schedule. "That's great. Snape hates the Gryffindors with a passion and always favors us. He's also my godfather, so we're likely to get extra special treatment."

"Speaking of Snape, it has never looked like he particularly favors me," Harold said, nodding toward the staff table. Draco looked up just in time for Snape to turn his head to look at Harold, giving the boy a particularly venomous look.

"That's weird..." Draco said. Then, he shrugged. "Well, my Father told me that Snape and your father hated each other when they were at school, so that might be it."

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, it was cold and creepy, with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls, just the way Harold liked it.

Snape, like Professor Flitwick in Charms, paused at Harold's name as he took the roll call, calling Harold by his proper name, instead of Harry Potter. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black, and were cold and empty, making you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Snape seemed to have the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death... if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech.

"Weasley!" Snape said suddenly to Ronald Weasley, who jumped in his seat. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Ron looked stumped, while Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"I-I don't know, sir," Weasley stuttered.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer, while Draco nudged Harold with his elbow and shot him a wink. Snape ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Weasley, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. Harold and Draco were shaking with silent laughter at Weasley's embarrassment.

"I don't know, sir..." Weasley muttered, turning red.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Weasley?"

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Weasley, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," Weasley said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "Dracula!"

Harold's elegant eyebrow rose as he turned his head toward Snape, whose eyes bored into his.

"Your answer, Dracula?"

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," Harold answered, having already memorized his course books. "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, that is a trick question, as they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

Snape looked momentarily stunned by the proper answer. Then, he nodded.

"Twenty points to Slytherin, Dracula, and five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley."

Draco nudged Harold with his elbow again and gave him a smirk. Snape looked over the class.

"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment as Snape gave Harold a strange look, not quite as hateful as the ones he usually gave him.

–

"What, we're not going down to the feast?" Draco asked on Halloween, and Harold shook his head, sucking on a bloodpop.

"I'm not hungry, and you had more than enough to eat at the Three Broomsticks," he said imperiously, and Draco was quick to fall in line next to him, not saying a word of protest.

The Slytherins had really gotten comfortable with Harold as their unofficial Head of House. He ruled the Slytherins with an iron fist. Everything they did, he knew about, and if they stepped one toe out of line, the older students were sent to discipline the younger ones, usually with beatings or humiliating tasks.

Sobs were heard coming from one of the doors they passed, a girls' bathroom. Harold, completely ignoring the sign, pushed open the door, following the noises, with Draco trailing into the bathroom behind him, looking uncomfortable.

Harold pushed open the door to one of the stalls, to find none other than Hermione sitting on the toilet, sobbing into her hands.

"Well, well," Draco said suddenly, sneering down at Hermione, who jumped in surprise, looking outraged that two boys would enter a girls' bathroom, "if it isn't Big Bunny Granger."

"Now, now, Draco, don't be like that. Remember what I said."

Harold had given Draco a severe talking-to regarding blood purity, about how there was no pure and unpure, but only the powerful and the weaklings. Hermione was definitely no weakling.

"Sorry," Draco said with a shrug. "Old habits, you know. You're telling me this girl is powerful?"

"Of course," Harold said, ignoring Hermione's shocked face. "Have you not seen her in class? She's second only to me, after all. Now, Hermione, tell me, why are you sitting here, crying, and why are you not at the feast?"

Hermione sobbed, looking down at the floor.

"It's stupid..." she mumbled, and Harold smiled softly.

"Come on, my dear, you can tell me."

"I corrected Ronald Weasley in class today," Hermione muttered. "And he said some really mean things about me behind my back."

"There you see the jealousy of the weak, Draco," Harold told Draco, gesturing for Hermione. "He was so jealous, and so weak that he couldn't even insult the girl to her face. Now, come on, Hermione, let's get you out of that stall and you can come with us. We are going exploring a bit."

Harold held out a hand to Hermione, who blushed rather brightly as she reached out, taking it and allowing Harold to pull her to her feet. Draco suddenly gave a rather large sniff.

"Excuse you?"

Harold smelled it too. Something smelled like a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. Hermione seemed to smell it too, as she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Then they heard it, a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Draco turned and gasped, pointing. Hermione gave a small shriek.

Having just squeezed through the doorway was a twelve feet tall troll, with dull, granite skin, a great lumpy body like a boulder, a small bald head perched on top of it like a coconut, short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge woden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll saw the three children, and locked eyes with Harold. Then, it gave a roar as it took a step forward and raised its club.

Draco and Hermione both screamed as the club came swinging down toward them, but Harold's hand shot up in a flash.

"Stop."

The club stopped about an inch away from Harold's head, and the troll looked a bit confused. Then, it roared and raised its club again. Harold was as calm as ever.

"Stop."

Once more, the club stopped an inch away from Harold's head. The troll slowly retracted the club, then tilted its head to the side, probably wondering how that puny little creature could stop it.

"I don't remember giving you permission to swing that club around," Harold said, and with a crash, the club dropped out of the troll's hand. "Neither do I remember giving you permission to breathe."

The troll's eyes suddenly widened, and it opened its mouth in an attempt to roar, but no sound came out. It grasped at its throat and started staggering around, swinging its long arms around widely.

Slowly, the troll's eyelids drifted shut as its eyes rolled up into the back of its head, and it swayed of the spot, before falling flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it... dead?"

"Most every creature needs to breathe to live, so yes," Harold said simply, adjusting his tie. For once, he had decided to wear his Slytherin tie, green and silver.

"H-How did you do that?" Hermione asked, and Harold shrugged.

"I suppose it was so intimidated by my presence that it felt a need to comply with my orders."

"Is that how you made us kneel that first night?"

"That's right. It's all instinct," Harold said simply.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. A moment later, McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. McGonagall was looking at the three students. Harold had never seen her so angry. Her lips were completely white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" she said, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"Because, madam, we were here comforting Hermione, who had been rudely insulted by Ronald Weasley," Harold said simply. "We had no idea there was a troll in this castle until it entered this room."

"And how did you kill it?" Snape asked, now rising from his kneeling position by the troll's head.

"I told it to stop breathing, and it did," Harold said simply.

"Do you expect us to believe that, Dracula?" McGonagall asked, and Harold nodded, before gesturing for the troll.

"Can you see a wound, Professor?"

McGonagall looked to the troll, and couldn't see a wound anywhere on its body.

"Well then, I suppose I will have to handle the disciplining of these two," Snape said silkily, gesturing for Harold and Draco. "Professor McGonagall, you should take Miss Granger back to Gryffindor Tower."

"Yes..." McGonagall said, eying Harold suspiciously. "Yes, of course... Come along, Miss Granger."

Hermione and McGonagall left.

"Come," Snape told the two Slytherins, and they followed Snape out of the bathroom, heading for the dungeons. "I have heard of the impressive commanding presence of Count Vlad Dracula," he said to Harold as they walked. "I trust that you haven't been using any of the abilities you used on the troll on any of your fellow students?"

"Not at all, Professor," Harold lied flawlessly. Snape gave him a suspicious look, then looked to Draco, who shook his head.

"He hasn't, sir."

"Good. Now, I believe fifty points should be awarded to you, Dracula, for so skillfully slaying a full-grown troll. Go off to finish the feast in the common room. I must inform the headmaster of this."

"Yes, sir," both Harold and Draco said, before walking off, parting ways with Snape.

"Fifty points!" Draco said happily once they reached the dungeons. "I don't think Snape has ever awarded that many points before!"

"He must have warmed up to me," Harold said with a smirk, fishing another bloodpop out of his pocket and taking off the wrapper, before putting it in his mouth.

–

"Harold, we really shouldn't be here..." Hermione whispered. "We could get into a lot of trouble..."

"You have no sense of adventure, Granger," Draco said, shaking his head as Harold tapped his wand against the door leading to the corridor on the third floor. With a click, the door opened, and the three of them made their way inside.

"I would like to see what's so special about this corridor, and what it is that could possibly be a threat to our... lives..." Harold trailed off as the corridor was lit up.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled up the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes, three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction, and three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

"That's a Cerberus," Harold said, and all three heads started growling. "I've always wanted one of those."

He held up a hand, locking eyes with the Cerberus, and immediately, the growling stopped, while Draco and Hermione, quivering, inched closer to him.

"Hi there," Harold said, slowly moving toward the Cerberus, still holding up his hand and staring it straight in the eyes of the middle head.

The dog leaned down, and all three heads sniffed the hand, then growled as Harold kept staring it in the eyes.

"Harold, what are you doing?" Hermione hissed, sounding quite scared.

"Look at what it's standing on," Harold said, not looking away from the dog, who he was currently establishing his dominance over. Finally, the dog gave a whine as it backed off, and Harold nodded, lowering his hand. The dog backed off even more, allowing them to see that it had been standing on a trapdoor. Harold walked over and opened it, peering into the darkness.

"What can you see?" Draco asked as he and Hermione also took their eyes off the dog to look down the trapdoor.

"Everything," Harold said, his pupils almost shining like a wolf's as he stared down into the shadows. "There's some sort of plant down there. Let's investigate it later."

The trio closed the trapdoor and left the corridor, deciding to come back some other time.

The next morning, Weasley had apparently decided to try to bully Hermione again, as when Harold and Draco made their way out of the Great Hall after breakfast, they found Weasley, flanked by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, confronting Hermione.

"Why have you been hanging out with the Slytherins, Granger?" Weasley asked, and Hermione clicked her tongue and gave Weasley a very Slytherin look, as if Weasley was an ant that wasn't even worth stepping on.

"Maybe because they treat me properly, _Weasley_?" she said. "You ever consider that?"

"They're evil, Granger! Stay away from them, or else...!"

"Or else what, Weasley?" Draco drawled suddenly, making Weasley jump and spin around to look at them, immediately flinching when he looked into Harold's eyes. "Tell me, what were you planning on doing to Hermione?"

"That's none of your business, Malfoy!" Weasley barked with a glare, but Draco just crossed his arms, smirking.

"Then again, Weasley does tend to cause devastation with even the simplest spells," he said, insulting Weasley's magical skills which, frankly, were severely lacking.

"Or maybe he'll even try to kiss her," Harold said. "I know I would die from shame if I let someone _that_ hideous kiss me. That truly is a face only a mother could love."

Weasley lunged at Harold, whose hand wrapped around Weasley's throat and choke-slammed him into the floor.

"Dracula!" came Snape's voice as the Potions master swept out of the Great Hall to see Harold holding Weasley down, while Finnigan and Thomas had pulled their wands. "What's going on here?"

"Weasley attacked Harold, Professor," Hermione said immediately, eager to please a teacher. Harold would have to purge that from her personality at some point.

"Is this true?" Snape asked Draco, who nodded.

"He insulted me!" Weasley spat as Harold rose to his feet, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

"I see no proof of such a thing," Snape said silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Fighting is prohibited. Off you go now, all of you."

Harold and Draco moved over to Hermione and walked off with her, throwing gleeful looks back at Weasley and the others.

"I hate them..." Hermione muttered. "I hate being in Gryffindor. They all hate me for both being a bookworm and for being friends with you. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I guess it chose Gryffindor instead because my blood isn't pure..."

"But what you lack in magical blood, you more than make up for in magical ability," Draco said. He had really warmed up to Hermione since the troll incident, which Harold was pleased to see, as he didn't want his two closest friends arguing.

Soon enough, Christmas arrived. Draco and Hermione went home over the holidays, leaving Harold quite alone in the castle. The Great Hall, he had to admit, looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

When Harold awoke on Christmas Day, he found a very large pile of packages at the foot of his bed. He tilted his head to the side curiously and found that the first one was from none other than Marcus Flint, the sixth year he had forced to kneel on September the first. It contained a very beautiful chess set that looked very expensive. Accompanying it was a note.

_Requesting permission to cheat on the Transfiguration test after the holidays._

Harold chuckled. So, these were all bribes, eh?

He opened all the Christmas presents, and soon found himself with a large supply of bloodpops, silk shirts, a pair of handmade leather riding boots with an intricate design carved into the leather (courtesy of Pansy Parkinson, who Harold suspected had a crush on him), and a whole bunch of other useless things. He was nonetheless grateful that the students felt they needed to pay him off in order to break the rules.

The last parcel was very light. He unwrapped it, and something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. An Invisibility Cloak. Harold picked it up, and a note fell out of it. He seized the note and written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before  
he died. It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Happy Christmas to you._

There was no signature. Harold stared at the note.

"Use it well..." he repeated to himself, and no one was there to think him crazy, as almost all the Slytherins had gone home for the holidays.

So, wearing his new and, admittedly, beautiful riding boots, Harold made his way into the common room, where he found a few students sitting here and there, and they all looked up when he entered the common room, greeting him with the respect he deserved.

That night, Harold sneaked out of the common room, wearing his Invisibility Cloak. It was an amazing feeling, being invisible. It was quite different from turning into mist, an ability he hadn't quite mastered yet, as he was solid and could touch things.

After a while of wandering, Harold ended up in an unused classrooms. Th dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket, but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Harold stepped in front of the mirror, a bit solemnly, as he had never been able to see his reflection.

He had stop himself from flinching. He whirled around, the classroom looking the same as ever. Then, he looked back into the mirror.

There he stood, reflected in it, but he was wearing something different. He was wearing his ancestor's old, black overcoat, with red trim, a high, overturned collar and wide lapels that had several gold buttons on them. He also wore, instead of a tie, a white cravat. Over all this, he wore his usual high-collared cloak.

Around him was what looked like a battlefield. It was covered in people impaled on pikes, and the sky was blood red. The Harold in the mirror stared back at him. Then, he reared his head back and laughed. No sound came from the mirror, but Harold could almost hear the cold, high laughter.

Harold went to visit the mirror the next night, and the night after that. On that third night, however, as he stood watching himself tearing into his enemies with his teeth, all of them faceless, a voice reached his ears.

"So... back again, Harold?"

Harold blinked, then slowly turned to look behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harold must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

"I didn't see you, Professor," Harold said, looking back to the mirror, wondering if Dumbledore could see what he was seeing. He decided that he couldn't. If Dumbledore had seen it, he would no doubt have done something to Harold, expel him or send him to prison.

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Dumbledore said, smiling. "So," he said, slipping off the desk to walk over to Harold, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that."

"But I expect you have realized by now what it does? Can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

"It shows us are deepest, innermost desires of our hearts," Harold guessed, and Dumbledore looked delighted.

"Oho, how did you guess that?"

Harold pointed to the inscription on the mirror. "'I show not your face, but your heart's desire,'" he read backwards, and Dumbledore clapped his hands gently.

"Bravo, Harold. Yes, the happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is."

"But he would at least see himself," Harold said, looking back at the mirror, where his reflection was currently holding a torn off head high in the air above his open mouth, drinking the blood that dripped from it. He smirked. "I have never seen my reflection before."

"Tell me, Harold, what do you see in that mirror?"

"I can ask you the same question, Professor. How personal does that feel?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite right. Our innermost desires are usually best kept to ourselves. But now, Harold, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harold, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, who don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

"Nocturnal, Professor," Harold said, and Dumbledore chuckled again.

"I forgot, Harold. Well, get off to your common room, at least."

"Yes, sir."

–

"I wonder what I would have seen," Draco mumbled the day after the holidays were over, and Harold had explained what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, and what it did. "By the way, you didn't happen to see me in that mirror, did you?"

"Don't worry, Draco," Harold said with a smirk. "The people I tore apart in the mirror were all faceless."

"Oh, good... Good..." Draco mumbled, but he still looked a bit nervous.

"Draco, you and Hermione are my only real friends," Harold said with an exasperated sigh. "Why would I ever want to kill you?"

"That's true, I suppose."

The months passed, and Harold grew increasingly more bored. It wasn't until June that Harold suddenly remembered the trapdoor. He had been so caught up in thinking about the Mirror of Erised that he hadn't even considered the trapdoor. And now, he wanted to know what was beneath it.

As the door to the third floor corridor creaked open, Harold, followed by Draco and Hermione, immediately noticed a harp at the feet of the Cerberus, who growled when they entered, but immediately whined an apology when it saw Harold.

"Looks like someone has already been here..." Harold muttered. Shaking his head, he made his way to the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"How do we get down?" Hermione asked once they'd opened the trapdoor. "Do you see any way to climb?"

Harold shook his head, then immediately looked behind him as the Cerberus had approached, his mouth open as if to bite him.

"Sit!" he ordered, and with a thud that shook the corridor, the dog's hind quarters connected with the floor. Harold nodded as the dog whined, and then gestured for the hole. "Who goes first?"

When neither of the two answered, Harold gestured for the Cerberus.

"You know, I don't think he would be very friendly if I left."

Immediately, Draco approached the hole.

"I'll go."

With that, he lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Taking a deep, calming breath, he let go. Then, Hermione also lowered herself into the hole, dropping into the darkness.

"I'll see you around," Harold told the Cerberus, before jumping into the hole. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down, and...

_Flump!_ With a funny, muffled sort of thump, he landed on the soft plant at the bottom, between Hermione and Draco.

"We must be miles under the school," Hermione said.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," Draco said.

"_Lucky_!" Hermione shrieked. "Look at you both!"

She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harold and Draco, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant off them. Harold managed to tear it to pieces, but the more Draco struggled against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around him.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is... it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so happy our walking library has a name for the thing trying to kill us!" Draco snarled. Harold ripped off a tendril that had snaked its way around his neck.

"If you don't have anything helpful to say, Draco, don't say anything."

He hated to admit it, but this plant was producing new tendrils to wrap around him faster than he could tear them apart.

"Oh, what did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp..."

"So light a bloody fire!" Draco choked out.

"Yes, of course! But there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT, YOU STINKING MUDBLOOD?" Draco roared.

"Oh, right!" Hermione said, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of bluebell flames at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

As the two boys joined Hermione by the wall, Harold's hand shot out, grabbing Draco's collar and pulling him close to Harold, who glared at him.

"_That_... was not courteous..."

"What did that mean, mudblood?" Hermione asked, and Harold looked at her.

"Dirty, tainted blood. A word blood purists use to describe Muggle-borns."

"Well, you have to admit, she had it coming, for that brain fart," Draco said. Harold thought about it for a second. Then, he shrugged and nodded.

"True."

"Harold!"

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" Harold suggested, pointing down a stony passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward.

"Can you hear something?" Draco whispered, and Harold nodded.

A soft rustling and clinking noise was coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"Sounds like bats," Harold said, listening intently. "Wings, at the very least."

"There's light ahead... I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Draco asked.

"Maybe. There's only one way to find out."

And before Draco or Hermione could stop him, Harold sprinted across the room with amazing speed. Nothing happened. He reached the door and pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other two followed him. Even with Harold's great vampire strength, he couldn't get the door open, not even when Hermione tried the Alohomora Charm.

"Now what?" Draco asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"These birds... they can't be here just for decoration," Hermione said, and Harold looked up. Only now did his sharp vampire eyes see it.

"They're not birds," he said, pointing up. "They're _keys_. Winged keys, look carefully. So that must mean..." he looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "...yes, look. Broomsticks. We've got to catch the key to the door."

"But there are _hundreds_ of them!"

Draco examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one, probably silver, like the handle."

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

After about a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, Harold noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one," he told the others. "That big one, there... no, there... with bright blue wings, the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Draco went speeding in the direction that Harold was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

"We've got to close in on it," Harold spoke, feeling rather silly as he sat on the broomstick. He'd always preferred thestrals and hippogriffs over broomsticks. "Draco, you come at it from above... Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down, and I'll try and catch it. Ready? Now!"

Draco dived, Hermione rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harold streaked after it. It sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand.

They landed quickly, and Harold ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned... it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harold asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was incredibly dark, but Harry saw immediately what it was in there. He was about to explain, when they stepped into the chamber, and light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieves.

"Now what do we do?" Hermione whispered anxiously.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Draco asked. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces, they could see another door.

"How?"

"I think," Draco said, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

–

"You," Harold said in surprise.

In the last chamber stood none other than Quirrell, who smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

Harold's face twitched in anger.

"My name is Dracula, Count Harold Dracula, you peon..." he hissed.

Quirrell gave a cruel chuckle.

"That's right, I forgot. You despise your given name, don't you, boy?" he asked, smirking. "Now, I suppose you were expecting someone more along the lines of Snape? He certainly fits the part."

"I was honestly not expecting anyone down here until I saw that you left the harp behind with my Cerberus," Harold admitted. "Neither do I care why you're here. I merely came here to see what was down here. Blame it on a child's curiosity."

"So, you don't know what is down here?" Quirrell asked, and Harold could tell this surprised him. "You honestly haven't been snooping around like Dumbledore thought you would?"

"I have not," Harold said. "What is down here?"

Quirrell smirked again, wider this time.

"The Philosopher's Stone."

Harold's eyebrows rose. "A Philosopher's Stone? Nicolas Flamel's prized possession, here at Hogwarts?"

"It was once in Gringotts, but when Dumbledore learned that my Master, or at least I, coveted the Stone, he had it transferred here," Quirrell explained. He snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harold.

Only now did Harold realize what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

A snapping sound was heard, and Quirrell spun around to find himself facing a free Harold Dracula, who tilted his head to the side.

"Let me speak to him..." a voice spoke, seeming to come from Quirrell himself. "...face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!" Quirrell spoke.

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harold watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. The turban fell away, and Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then, he slowly turned on the spot.

Harold's eyebrow rose. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the ugliest face Harold had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter... or Harold Dracula, as you go by these days..." it whispered. Only now did Harold realize who it was.

"Lord Voldemort," he greeted with a bow of his head. He had always been one to respect power, and Voldemort had a lot of it, to be able to avoid even death.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you stand in front of the mirror, and tell me what you see?"

Harold moved down the steps to stand in front of the mirror. There he stood, once more dressed in his ancestor's outfit, slaughtering his enemies. Then, his reflection dropped the body whose neck he'd been biting, and looked straight into Harold's eyes. Then, the reflection patted his pocket, and immediately Harold felt a weight appear in his pocket.

"Well?" the face hissed. "How about you give me the Stone in your pocket?"

"I think not," Harold said, turning to face Voldemort, a hint of a grin on his face. "Looking into that mirror... it always gets my blood rushing, and right now, I'm feeling a bit peckish..."

With that, Harold lunged, baring his fangs, and sank his teeth into Quirrell's neck. Quirrell and Voldemort both screamed in pain as the bite would started sizzling, while Harold greedily drank the man's blood. His scar seared like crazy, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Human blood, after so long...

Harold pulled back, allowing the now dead Quirrell to drop like a puppet with its strings cut. A smokey vapor rose from the body and charged out of the chamber, and Harold exhaled slowly. He reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, wiping the blood off his mouth.

It was such a delightful feeling. His blood was pumping, his senses flared, and he felt so alive! Harold leaned his had back and closed his eyes as he took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Then, he grabbed Quirrell and left the chamber, heading back to the room with the keys, where he grabbed a broom and flew all the way back up to the Cerberus' corridor. Once there, he landed and dropped the body to the floor.

"Dinner," he told the dog, then exited the corridor, intent on meeting Draco and Hermione in the Great Hall, where he had sent them to wait.

"Harold," Draco said as Harold sat down next to him at the Slytherin table, waving at Hermione, who waved back. "What was it down there?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Want something to eat?" Draco asked, only to be given a rather feral grin from Harold.

"No, thank you, I already ate."

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we start and finish second year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

Harold Dracula sat in his castle, upon his throne, with the Philosopher's Stone in his hand. He didn't know what to do with it. He already had eternal life, and more gold than he knew what to do with... So, what to do with this?

"What's on your mind, Master?" came Eleesia's voice as the quadruplet made her way into the throne room. She stuck to English, as Harold had commanded that they were to speak it from now on, so that Harold's English wouldn't get rusty.

"I don't know what I wish to do with this Philosopher's Stone," Harold said, holding up the Stone.

"Why not hide it away in the treasury?" Eleesia suggested, raising an eyebrow. Harold sighed.

"I thought of that, but it seems such a waste, to leave it in the treasury to gather dust.

"Well, you cannot very well give it away, can you, Master?"

"Can't I?" Harold asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. Then, he sighed again. "No, I suppose I cannot..."

There was a crack like a gunshot, and all of a sudden, a little creature appeared in front of Harold's throne. It had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. A house-elf, in Castle Dracula?

"Harry Potter!" the creature squeaked I a high-pitched voice. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honor it is."

Eleesia immediately flinched, and Harold snarled loudly, shooting to his feet, which made the house-elf flinch at well.

"Do not call be by that name!" Harold snarled, and the house-elf immediately sank into a bow.

"Dobby is sorry, sir! Dobby forgets that Harry Potter goes by the name Harold Dracula. Dobby will not forget again."

"Dobby..." Harold muttered, sinking back down into his throne. "Are you, perchance, Draco's house-elf?"

Dobby flinched, and then gave a quivering nod.

"Does Draco send me a message, I wonder?" Harold asked, and Dobby shook his head.

"No, sir... Dobby is here of his own volition... Dobby will have to punish himself grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir..."

"Then why are you here, Dobby?" Harold asked, not in the mood for games.

Dobby leaned toward Harold, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harold Dracula met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago... that Harold Dracula escaped _yet again_."

"I defeated him, if memory serves," Harold said in boredom. "The coward fled."

Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harold Dracula is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harold Dracula, to warn him, even if he _does_ have to shut his ears in the over door later... _Harold Dracula must not go back to Hogwarts_."

There was a sudden silence. Harold and Eleesia both stared at the house-elf, who was nervously fidgeting on the spot.

"What is this rubbish?" Harold asked suddenly. "Of course I will return."

"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked so hard his ears flapped. "Harold Dracula must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harold Dracula goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Harold asked, his eyebrow rising again.

"There is a plot, Harold Dracula. A plot to make the most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," Dobby whispered, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harold Dracula must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"I don't doubt that Mr. Malfoy or one of his friends is behind this plotting, but personally, I welcome a bit of mortal danger. If someone finds a way to kill me, I welcome them to," Harold said simply, and Dobby shook his head again.

"Please, Harold Dracula, sir, give Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," Harold said. "Now, Dobby, you should leave rather urgently. I am expecting visitors."

"Dobby cannot leave, sir, not until Harold Dracula says he will not go back to Hogwarts."

"Then I'll just kill you, and rob Draco of a servant."

Dobby's mouth curved into a small smile.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir."

"But I will go through with it," Harold spoke, not a hint of humor in his voice, and Dobby flinched.

Suddenly, the door to the throne room opened, revealing Verona, who stepped inside, followed by a couple and a boy. The pale, pointed face of the man, along with the long blond hair immediately identified him as Draco's father, and Draco's mother, who was tall and blond, and quite beautiful, in all honesty. Following them was Draco.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," Harold said pleasantly, making Dobby squeak in fright as he spun around to look at his owners. Mr. Malfoy froze when he saw Dobby, and Harold gestured for the house-elf. "Your house-elf here has been keeping me company, trying to prevent me from going back to Hogwarts this year. Any idea why?"

"None," Mr. Malfoy said silkily, his cold eyes glaring at Dobby, who fidgeted. "Go home, Dobby, and don't bother Count Dracula anymore. I shall deal with you when I get home."

Without a word, Dobby disappeared with a crack.

"Now that that is over with," Harold said, rising from his throne and walking over to the Malfoys, holding out a hand for Mr. Malfoy to shake, "I am pleased to have you as my honored guests in this castle of mine."

"It is a rather different sight from Hogwarts, I must admit," Mr. Malfoy said, shaking Harold's hand. "For the better, of course. For the better."

"Of course," Harold said, moving over to Mrs. Malfoy, taking her hand and planting a kiss on her knuckles. "I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son has been a very good friend of mine."

"I am delighted to hear it, Count Dracula," Mrs. Malfoy said, smiling.

"Draco," Harold greeted Draco with a nod, and the boy nodded back.

"Harold."

"Please, allow me to show you around," Harold said, leading the way out of the throne room. "And I am afraid I must ask you to stay close to me. This castle is old, and has many bad memories. The quadruplets in particular can be rather vicious."

"Can you not control your servants?" Mr. Malfoy inquired, only to get a smirk from Harold.

"I can, but I like to keep them on a loose leash. It makes for a much more amusing time."

–

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_

by Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Harold hummed as he stood in Diagon Alley with Draco, who had just returned from Knockturn Alley with his father, who stood behind the two boys.

"I have never heard of this... Gilderoy Lockhart before," he spoke curiously. "I don't have any of his books in my library."

"Don't dirty your library with his books, Harold," Mr. Malfoy spoke as they walked off, toward Flourish and Blotts. "The man is a fraud. I went to school with him, and he was abysmal at magic. I doubt he could have done the things he writes about."

"I see," Harold said, approaching the bookstore.

There was a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for ths was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

_MAGICAL ME_

today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of middle-aged witches. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies... Don't push, there... mind the books, now..."

Harold, Draco, and Mr. Malfoy squeezed inside, Mr. Malfoy looking disdainful whenever he touched someone from the crowd.

"Go and get your books, boys," Mr. Malfoy said, stopping in a somewhat open area where he wouldn't have to touch anyone. "I shall wait here for you."

"Yes, Father," Draco said and nudged Harold, and together they made their way through the crowd.

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes. His pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Harold, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Proph-"

The man stopped as Harold grabbed his collar and pulled him down to eye level, his blood red eyes glaring into the man's brown ones.

"See this?" he asked, gesturing for his right riding boot, where there was a dusty footprint on the toe. "This is Italian leather... It costs more than an entire month's salary for you..." Harold gave a great pull, and the man was forced to his knees before Harold, who glared down at him. "Wipe off your dirt, you peon..."

The man gulped, and immediately started wiping Harold's boot with his sleeve. When he was done, he shot to his feet, muttered an apology, and disappeared into the crowd.

"That... was brilliant," Draco said with a smirk.

"I really like these boots."

"You never did tell me where you got them."

"Parkinson bought them for me," Harold said, a curious look on his face. "I suspect that she likes me."

"Yeah, suspect," Draco said slowly, nodding. "That's why she spent over fifty Galleons on a pair of boots for you."

Harold laughed.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up, and saw Harold. He stared. Then, he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Lockhart dived forward, seized Harold's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause, but that immediately stopped, to be replaced by gasps when Harold gripped Lockhart's wrist and squeezed.

Lockhart gave a yelp, and dropped to his knees from the pain, and Harold glared down at him.

"My name is _Harold Dracula_," he spoke loudly, to make sure the entire store could hear it. "Don't ever forget it. Do you understand?"

"I understand!" Lockhart practically screamed, and Harold was disgusted to see tears in the man's eyes. Harold let him go, and Lockhart shot to his feet, clearing his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, expertly hiding his pain and fear of Harold as he threw an arm around the young Dracula's shoulders. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harold here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography... which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge..." The crowd applauded again, the memory of Lockhart's humiliating treatment at Harold's hands seemingly forgotten. "He had _no idea_," Lockhart continued, giving Harold a little shake, "that he would be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in face, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harold found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Shaking his head to himself, he made his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Draco stood. But he wasn't alone.

"See that, Weasley? He got the books for free. Bet you would have loved that," Draco drawled with a sneer as he spoke to Ronald Weasley who stood in the store with a young redheaded girl, who he had to admit looked kind of cute with that out-of-place look on her face. "Then you could have bought yourself some new robes."

"Oh, it's you," Weasley said, looking at Draco as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe.

"Hello, Weasley," Harold said as he approached them. "Had a good summer?"

"You..." Weasley muttered, giving Harold the same look. Harold ignored him, however, and instead focused on the girl. He extended his hand.

"Hello there, I am Harold Dracula."

The girl went scarlet and shakily reached out her hand, taking his and shaking it, saying, "G-Ginny W-Weasley..."

She looked like she was going to pass out when Harold turned her hand over and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

"Charmed."

"Get away from my sister, Dracula!" Weasley hissed.

"I cannot merely 'get away' from such a charming young woman," Harold said, staring deeply into Ginny's eyes, a hint of a smirk on his face. Then, he tipped his books into the second-hand cauldron in her hand. "Here you are, my dear. I don't need them."

"We don't need your sympathy!" Weasley growled. "Ginny, give the books back."

"What?" Ginny asked, turning to glare at Weasley. "No, can't you see they were a gift?" she said, then gave Harold a bow of her head. "T-Thank you, Count Dracula."

"What are you doing with the Weasley girl?" Draco hissed in Harold's ear. Harold turned away from the Weasleys to hide his smirk and threw an arm around Draco's shoulders.

"What better way to harm Weasley than to turn his own sister against him, eh?"

Draco's eyes widened. Then, he smirked as well, and they both turned back to the Weasleys, where Draco extended a hand to Ginny as well.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

Ginny, quivering, reached out and shook his hand as well.

"Ron!" came the voice of a tall, balding, redheaded man with glasses as he made his way over with the Weasley twins. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well... Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He had made his way over and put his hands on Harold and Draco's shoulders, sneering in just the same way as Draco.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly.

"Bust time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than Ginny did.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," Mr. Malfoy said, his eyes glinting. He thrust the old Transfiguration book at Ginny. "Here, girl, take your book... it's the best your father can give you... Come, boys."

"Hope to see you in Slytherin, Ginny," Harold said with a charming smile. "That's our House."

With that, they left the bookstore.

"Care to tell me why a noble Slytherin would associate with Weasley trash?" Mr. Malfoy inquired of Harold, who opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"Harold has a master plan, Father," he said, a wide smirk on his face. "We'll appear to be the complete opposite of what the rumors say about Slytherin by befriending the mudblood Granger, and at the same time, we're turning the Weasley girl against her own family. It would be the ultimate insult, wouldn't it, Father, if the youngest Weasley ended up in Slytherin?"

"Very true," Mr. Malfoy said carefully. "But I think it would be best if you boys kept your distance from all Weasleys this year."

Harold gave Mr. Malfoy an inquisitive look. Could this have something to do with that extra something he put in Ginny's cauldron? Oh yes, Harold's sharp vampire eyes had seen it. It was a small book. But what all could a little book do that would warrant such caution regarding the Weasley girl?

–

When Harold sat down at the Slytherin table on September the first, he was greeted happily by everyone who was within arm's length of him. Good, no one seemed to have forgotten who was in charge.

"Hi, Harold," came a shy voice as someone sat down next to him. It was Pansy Parkinson, who blushed when Harold looked at her. "Had a good summer?"

"Exceedingly good," Harold said with a smile. "I never did thank you for the boots, did I, Pansy?"

"N-No, you didn't," Pansy said, and Harold took her hand, kissing her knuckles.

"Thank you."

"You're... You're welcome, Harold..." Pansy said shyly. Draco leaned to the side to whisper in Harold's ear.

"I like Pansy like this. Usually when she and her father comes to visit, she never shuts up. She's much more docile now."

Harold gave a chuckle as the Sorting Hat finished its song, which Harold had completely missed, and the hall burst into applause.

Then, the Sorting began. Harold and Draco kept themselves entertained by making their knives float and start fencing. They dropped the knives to the table again, however, when "Weasley, Ginny!" was called.

The young girl stumbled forward, and the Hat was placed on her head.

There was about a minute of silence. Then, the Hat opened its 'mouth,' and proclaimed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Just like with Harold's Sorting, the entire Slytherin table was quiet as a scarlet Ginny took the Hat off her head. Then, Harold started applauding, quickly followed by Draco and the rest of the Slytherin students, probably afraid of punishment should they have avoided applauding.

"Good to have you here, Ginny," Harold said as Ginny took her seat across from him and Draco. "Welcome to Slytherin."

"Thank you... Count Dracula..." Ginny almost whispered, blushing scarlet still.

"Please, call me Harold," Harold said with a charming smile.

The next day, at breakfast, something happened that completely made Harold and Draco's day.

Over at the Gryffindor table, the mail arrived, and a scarlet envelope was dropped in Ronald Weasley's lap. Harold and Draco immediately recognized it as a Howler, so they both smirked at each other, then watched the show as Weasley opened the envelope. A split second after Weasley had slit the envelope open, a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"**RONALD WEASLEY! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISGUSTED BY YOUR BEHAVIOR!**" came a shriek from the envelope. "**DON'T YOU DARE BULLY YOUR SISTER JUST BECAUSE SHE WAS SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN! WE DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BE A PREJUDICED BOY! IF I HEAR THAT YOU HAVE SO MUCH AS SAID A SCATHING WORD TO GINNY, WE'LL BE BRINGING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!**"

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Weasley's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harold brought his hands together, slowly clapping. Draco followed, then the rest of the Slytherins burst into applause as well, and Weasley sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

"Ah, that was good," Harold said as the applause died down. He looked to Ginny, who looked a bit red herself. "So, Ginny, what's your first class?"

Ginny looked at her recently received schedule and read through it.

"Potions with the Gryffindors."

"Oh, good. You'll find Snape's lessons pleasurable as long as you're a Slytherin," Draco said with a wink.

–

"_Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you..._"

Harold, sitting deep in thought in the Slytherin common room, in front of the fire, perked up when the voice reached his ears.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Draco, who looked up from where he lay on one of the leather couches, looking through his Transfiguration book in boredom.

"Hear what?"

"That voice," Harold clarified, blinking as he looked around at the other students in the common room. None of them seemed to have heard anything.

"What voice, Harold?" Draco asked, sitting up and looking curiously at Harold. "I didn't hear anything."

Harold narrowed his eyes as he looked into the fire, deep in thought. "Nothing... I guess it's nothing. Go back to reading your book, Draco."

Draco stared at Harold for a few seconds, then shrugged and lay back down, going back to reading his Transfiguration book.

Harold hummed to himself. That cold, murderous voice... What could it possibly have been? It sure wasn't Harold's imagination, he knew that much... And it sounded so... familiar for some reason...

The days passed, and Harold put the thoughts of the voice in the back of his head as he focused on his school work, which was starting to get very boring, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he had decided not to even try in.

Halloween came, and Harold enjoyed an excellent Halloween feast.

He didn't necessarily need to eat, but he had to admit that it was a welcome change from the bloodpops.

After the feast, they found themselves wandering the halls, ready to head down to the common room, with Harold in the lead, when Harold suddenly stopped in one of the dark corridors.

"Look," he said suddenly, pointing down the corridor.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. Everyone approached it slowly, squinting through the darkness, but Harold could see everything. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN**

**OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

"Enemies of the Heir, beware?" Draco read out loud as a large group of students had come from the other end of the corridor as well. "What's that thing?" he asked, pointing at something underneath the text.

"It's Mrs. Norris," Harold said, loud enough for everyone to hear it.

True enough, Mrs. Norris was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

–

"That's the second attack in less than two weeks," Harold said as he sat in the Slytherin common room, opening a small, wrapped box to find a velvety box inside. He opened it, to see a silver signet ring, which looked much like his family ring, only it was blank and didn't have his family crest on it. He put it onto his left ring finger, since his right already had his family ring on it.

"I don't see why you're so worried," Draco said, shrugging as he sat in a chair next to Harold's. "I mean, a few peasants attacked doesn't really matter."

"You seem to forget that our best friend is Muggle-born," Harold said, giving Draco a look.

"Oh, right... I'm still not used to, you know, being friends with Mugge-borns," Draco said with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry."

"We need to find out what is causing this. It might have something to do with that book your father gave Ginny."

"What does a book have to do with anything?"

"That's the thing... I don't know..."

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by now. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was for some reason distraught, just as she had been when Mrs. Norris was Petrified...

When Harold sat down and thought about it, Ginny had been acting very oddly ever since they started school.

It wasn't until February, long after the third attack, in which the victims were Justin Finch-Fletchely, and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

Harold, Draco, and Hermione were making their way toward the library when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

"That's Filch," Harold said as they made their way up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening intently.

"Has someone else been attacked?" Hermione wondered nervously.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"_...even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore..._"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor, and they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of a nearby bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear wailing echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Who on earth is that?" Harold wanted to know, and Hermione sighed.

"That's Moaning Myrtle," she whispered. "Everyone avoids her bathroom."

Harold hummed and tapped his boots with his wand, making them impervious to water, and then walked forward through the water to the bathroom, ignoring the Out Of Order sign and entering.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harold had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched, and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Moaning Myrtle was crying very loudly. She seemed to be hiding in one of the toilets. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"Pardon me, madam?" Harold spoke.

"Who's that? Myrtle glugged miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harold waded over to the stall that the voice was coming from and gently asked, "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me!" Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"I'm sorry, Miss Myrtle," Harold said sympathetically. "Do you know who threw it at you?"

"_I_ don't know... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," Myrtle said, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out..."

Harold, Draco, and Hermione looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby, black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harold stepped forward, picking it up.

He saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him that it was fifty years old. He opened it, and on the first page he could just make out the name 'T. M. Riddle' in smudged ink. He peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them.

"That's odd," Harold said, narrowing his eyes at the diary. "If no one has written in it, why would anyone want to flush it away?"

–

When Harold and Draco returned to their dorm the day before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, Harold was in for a nasty surprise. He found Theodore Nott in the dormitory, and the boy spun around to look at Harold with wide, panicking eyes.

"H-Harold, I swear, I didn't do this!"

Watching Harold fearfully, he gestured for Harold's bed.

The contents of Harold's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

"Theodore," Harold spoke calmly as he walked over to his bed, treading on a few loose pages of his Transfiguration book. The boy in question jumped to attention, and Harold glanced at him. "You know who did this?"

"N-No, Harold... I j-just came in, and it was like this..."

"I see..." Harold said slowly, reaching down and picking up his ancestor's cloak. His eyes drifted shut, and he took a deep breath. "I want the culprit found... and I want them punished... Gather everyone..."

"Yes, Harold," Draco said, leaving the room.

Harold looked around, and found something missing: Riddle's diary. So, there was a thief on the loose, then? He took out his wand, and with a sweep of it, all the contents of his trunk were put back into place, the items on the bed were put back in the drawer that soared into his bedside cabinet again, and his cloak was repaired. He put it on, then made his way out of the dormitory, followed by Nott.

There was a tension in the air as Harold entered the common room, where almost all the Slytherin students were gathered. Harold climbed onto one of the tables so that he could look over everyone.

"Someone has stolen from me," he spoke coldly, and he could see some people shivering at his tone of voice. "I am not one to be trifled with. Therefore, privileges will be revoked, freedoms will be withdrawn, and punishments will be much stricter. Unless, of course, the culprit wishes to step forward to spare their Housemates my wrath..."

There was no movement. A few people gulped. Harold's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"So be it..."

Slytherin wasn't allowed to go watch the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff game. Harold was so furious with the fact that someone had dared to steal from him that he revoked their Quidditch privileges. Marcus Flint had begged him not to force them not to play Quidditch, but Harold had just said that he'd see.

So, on the day of the Quidditch match, the Slytherins were all in the common room, studying or playing around, instead of watching the match, which had Flint fidgeting like crazy, as he was dying to see Gryffindor's tactics.

Just then, the wall bled away, and Snape stepped into the common room, holding a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand.

"There has been another double attack," he spoke coldly as he looked over his students, who all started listening intently to him. "Miss Penelope Clearwater and Miss Hermione Granger are lying Petrified in the hospital wing right now."

Harold and Draco went wide-eyed, looking at each other in silence, while Snape unrolled the parchment and started reading from it.

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the common room after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Slytherins packed inside the common room listened to Snape in silence. He rolled up the parchment and said, "It is very likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught..." he spoke quietly, his eyes locking with Harold's. Harold, however, only raised an eyebrow. Finally, Snape looked away. "I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about these attacks to come forward."

With that said, he left the common room, and the Slytherins began whispering immediately, most of them sending Harold concerned looks.

Meanwhile, Harold sat in his chair, slowly turning to look at Draco, who looked shocked.

"This was just made very personal," Harold said, rising from his chair.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"To see Hermione. Then, I'm going to find whoever is doing this, and I'm going to tear their throat out."

"Sounds good," Draco said, shooting to his feet. "I'm coming with you."

"Good man," Harold said, and together, they left the common room, despite what Snape had said.

–

**HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.**

"Huh..."

Harold stared at the message that had been left right underneath the previous message.

"Whose skeleton do you reckon they're talking about?" Draco asked as Harold pushed the door to Myrtle's bathroom open.

"Only one way to find out, don't you think?" he asked.

The bathroom was dimly lit now, not at all as dark as it had been the last time they were in there.

"Miss Myrtle?" Harold spoke politely, pushing open the stall to the end toilet, where Myrtle was sitting on the tank.

"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harold. "What do you want?"

"Miss Myrtle, how did you die?"

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question. Meanwhile, Draco leaned closer, confused.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Just a theory," Harold said, then looked back to Myrtle.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got to me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toiled, and then..." Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "...I _died_."

"How?"

"No idea," Myrtle said in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body seized up, and then I was floating away..." Se looked dreamily at Harold. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where did you see these eyes, Miss Myrtle?"

"Somewhere there," Myrtle said, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Harold and Draco moved over to it.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harold saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," Myrtle said brightly as Harold tried to turn it.

"Maybe... Maybe it's because the Heir of Slytherin..." Draco mumbled, putting a hand on his chin. "Maybe you need to be a Parselmouth to get through?"

"Well, lucky for us, then," Harold said, getting a strange look from Draco. He clarified, "I am a Parselmouth."

"You're a...?"

"There isn't a language in this world that I do not speak," Harold said, taking a step back. "_Open up_," he hissed in Parseltongue, and at once, the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move. The sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

"I'm going down there," Harold said, making up his mind. Draco nodded.

"I'll just stay here, shall I?"

"If you wish," Harold said, lowering himself into the pipe, then letting go.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as his, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.

Then, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.

Harold grunted as he waved his wand over himself, vanishing all the dirt and grime on his clothes and cloak. Then, he started walking, his footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

His eyes took in everything in the darkness, following the long stone tunnel, which was quiet as the grave. The floor was littered with small animal bones. He walked around a bend in the tunnel, coming up on something huge and curved. It was a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long, at least.

"Basilisk..." Harold whispered, suddenly realizing what the monster was. It was all too obvious. The groundskeeper Hagrid's roosters had been killed, the castle was unusually devoid of spiders, and the victims had all been Petrified because they saw it only in a reflection. Creevey saw it through that infernal camera of his, Finch-Fletchley saw it through Sir Nicholas, and Hermione saw it through a mirror...

The tunnel turned and turned again. Harold couldn't help but feel very at home in this place. The dark and dank reminded him so much of Castle Dracula. Then, at last, he rounded another bend and saw a solid was ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

"Open," Harold said in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sigh, and Harold walked inside.

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Harold moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harold had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

"Ginny?" Harold asked as he walked over to the girl and knelt next to her. He grabbed Ginny's shoulders and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and just as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But she had a pulse, albeit a weak one, so she was still alive.

"She won't wake," a soft voice said. Harold stood up and spun around.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harold was looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

"Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harold's face.

"She won't wake?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. "She's still alive."

"Only just," Riddle said.

Harold stared a him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"You're not a ghost, I know that much," Harold said, and for the first time in his life, he sounded uncertain.

"I am a memory," Riddle said quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harold had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"So, Ginny was the thief, then?" Harold asked, and Riddle nodded. "And I take it you are the Heir of Slytherin? Possession, then?"

"You are not as naïve as your writing would suggest, Harry Potter."

"My name is Harold Dracula," Harold growled, and Riddle gave a soft chuckle.

"Yes, of course. I, of all people, should understand the importance of forgetting one's birth name."

"And what does that mean?"

"Don't you realize, Dracula?" Riddle asked, his eyes shining. "I disclosed my full name in that memory I showed you when I captured that oaf Hagrid. Didn't it at all feel familiar?"

"It did," Harold said. "Kind of like a childhood friend I had almost forgotten. But then, I never had any friends growing up."

Riddle smiled maliciously. Then, he raised a wand that Harold recognized as Ginny's. He began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

"I see," Harold said, understanding dawning on his face. "It's no wonder why it felt so familiar. After all, we have such history, you and I."

"And that's why I have been wanting to speak with you, Harold," Riddle whispered. "Twice, in _your_ past, _my_ future, have I failed to kill you... I want to know how... How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk, the longer you stay alive..."

Harold chuckled. The chuckle slowly turned into a laugh, and Harold threw his head back, laughing loudly and coldly, a laugh so cold that it shocked even Riddle, whose eyes widened considerably. He laughed so hard that the dark Chamber rang with it, as though ten Harolds were laughing at once.

"Is it not obvious, Lord Voldemort?" Harold asked, using Riddle's chosen name, a sign of respect. "Has the possibility not entered your arrogant mind?"

"And what, pray tell, is that possibility?"

"That I... am stronger than you..." Harold whispered. The smile had disappeared from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.

"You... stronger than the greatest sorcerer alive?" Riddle hissed, and Harold chuckled.

"Don't you think it's possible? Twice we have met, once when I was no more than a baby, and yet here I stand, strong and whole, while you are a wreck, barely alive. You're in hiding, ugly, and foul-"

"Enough!" Riddle yelled, his face contorted. Then, he forced it into an awful smile.

"Very well, Harold... I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harold Dracula, Heir of Vlad Tepes..."

Riddle walked away, and Harold watched him stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed, but Harold understood what he was saying.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._"

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Harold saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge, black hole. And something was stirring inside he statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

An enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak, fell out of the mouth and hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Riddle smirked at Harold.

"_Kill him._"

Harold immediately threw his hand out, giving a sweep of his cloak. A swarm of blood red bats flew out of the shadows of his cloak, swarming the basilisk, which started drunkenly weaving its head through the air, snapping at the bats, which started attacking its eyes. There were two great spurts of dark blood, and the basilisk hissed in pain.

"NO!" Riddle screamed. "FORGET THE BATS! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM! KILL HIM!"

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly.

Suddenly, Harold exploded into a black mist that charged at the basilisk, entering its scaly nose and mouth. The basilisk started flailing wildly, giving choked hisses. It thrashed something fierce, and then, giving one last, hissing breath, it fell to the ground with a large thud, not moving.

"WHAT?" Riddle screamed in rage as the black mist slowly poured out of the basilisk's nose, to form into Harold again. Harold brushed his bangs out of his face and smirked at Riddle.

"Is that the best you've got, Riddle?"

"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle roared, firing an eerily green curse at Harold, who merely leaned to the side, avoiding it. He then looked down at the diary, which had to be the source of Riddle's powers, and whipped out his wand, pointing at it.

"Accio diary," he said, and the diary came soaring into his hand. Riddle's eyes widened, and Harold grinned, exposing his fangs, before biting down on the diary.

A black, viscous liquid poured into Harold's mouth, tasting a lot like ink, but Harold didn't care. He knew it wasn't ink. He could taste the life-force in the liquid, so he greedily drank it all up.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then...

He was gone. Ginny's wand fell to the floor with a clatter. Silence except for the steady _drip drip_ of ink-like substance still oozing from the diary.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harold hurried over to her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harold, with his ink-covered mouth, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

"Harold... oh, Harold... I tried to tell you, but I c-couldn't say it... it was _me_, Harold... but I... I s-swear I d-didn't mean to... R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over... and... _how_ did you kill that.. that thing? W-Where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary..."

"Riddle's gone," Harold said, holding up the diary, which had dropped dripping in. He took out a handkerchief and started wiping his mouth. "He _and_ the basilisk. Now, come on, we have to get out of here.

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harold helped her to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came, and n-now I'll have to leave and... _w-what'll Mum and Dad say_?"

"You won't be expelled. I can guarantee it," Harold said simply, awkwardly patting Ginny on the shoulder as they walked.

–

For a moment, there was silence as Harold and Ginny stood in the doorway of McGonagall's office, Ginny covered in muck and slime. Then there was a scream.

"_Ginny_!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harold looked past them. Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to McGonagall, who was taking deep, steadying breaths, clutching her heart. Then, Harold found himself being swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! _How_ did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," McGonagall said weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harold, who took a deep breath.

"It was easy. I, being a Parselmouth, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Myrtle's bathroom and went down there. Well there, I made my way to the Chamber where I found none other than Lord Voldemort down there. He had taken possession of Ginny using this," he said, holding up the diary. "He had a basilisk, but I killed it."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harold and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its soggy pages.

"W-What's that?" Mr. Weasley asked in a stunned voice. "_You-Know-Who_? Possess Ginny? But Ginny's not... Ginny hasn't been... has she?"

"Brilliant," Dumbledore said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... traveled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said. "What's our Ginny got to do with... with... _him_?"

"His d-diary!" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year-"

"_Ginny_!" Mr. Weasley said, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you _anything_? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself _if you can't see where it keeps its brain_. Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was _clearly_ full of Dark Magic..."

"I d-didn't know," Ginny sobbed. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it..."

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice... I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"Then, Hermione will be okay?" Harold asked, and Dumbledore nodded, smiling at Ginny.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," he said.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Dumbledore said thoughtfully to McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good _feast_. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," McGonagall said crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Dracula, shall I?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore said.

"Am I to be punished?" Harold asked as McGonagall left.

"Not at all, Harold," Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. "I think I shall give you a Special Award for Services to the School, and... let me see... yes, I think two hundred points for Slytherin."

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we start and finish third year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

_Dear Count Dracula,_

_Please note that the new school year will begin on Septem-  
ber the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross  
station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock._

_Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade  
on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form  
to your parent of guardian to sign._

_A list of books for next year is enclosed._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harold hummed as he read the letter he had just received. Harold was emancipated, so should he sign the permission form, or should he have one of the quadruplets sign it?

"Verona!" he called suddenly, and minutes later, the door to his throne room opened, and Verona stepped inside, bowing when she reached his throne.

"You called for me, my Lord?"

"Sign this," Harold said, handing the permission form to Verona, before opening his book list.

Putting the book list away, he picked up the day's copy of the Daily Prophet, which he had started subscribing to, and started reading.

_**BLACK STILL AT LARGE**_

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner  
ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding  
capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.  
"We are doing all we can to recapture Black,"  
said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this  
morning, "and we beg the magical community to  
remain calm."_

_Fudge has been criticized by some members of  
the International Federation of Warlocks for  
informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

"_Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an  
irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to  
anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have  
the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not  
breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone.  
And let's face it... who'd believe him if he did?"_

_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying  
a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use  
to kill each other), the magical community lives in  
fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when  
Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse._

Sirius Black... Harold had heard that name before... Like Tom Riddle, it was a name that he felt that he'd heard somewhere in his past, but just couldn't remember...

"Verona, have you ever heard of the name Sirius Black before?" Harold asked, and Verona shook her head.

"No, my Lord. Why do you ask?"

"It feels like I know him for some reason..." Harold muttered thoughtfully as he stared at the article.

–

Harold made his way through the Hogwarts Express, intent on finding Draco. Behind him walked Hermione, who was hurrying to keep up with him, lugging her heavy trunk behind her.

He found Draco in one of the compartments, sitting with Nott, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"All of you, clear off," Harold said coldly when they opened their mouths to greet him. "I need to speak with Draco."

They were quick to obey, clearing off faster than one could say 'Dracula.'

"Hello, Harold, had a good summer?" Draco asked with a smile as Harold lifted his trunk up on the luggage rack, followed by Hermione's. "And you, Hermione?"

"Oh, it was good," Hermione said, patting a basket that held a fluffy, orange cat. "I bought Crookshanks here."

"We need to talk," Harold said, ignoring Draco's question and sitting down across from him, staring into his eyes. Draco straightened up, no doubt seeing just how serious Harold was. "Who is Sirius Black?"

"My Father told me he was the Dark Lord's closest follower," Draco said immediately. "But I sensed some kind of lie coming from him when he told me this. He told me Sirius Black was the one who revealed the location of your parents to the Dark Lord. He was said to have been your father's best friend."

Harold's eyes widened.

"What?" he growled out, and Draco nodded.

"Yes. But like I said, I sensed a lie when my Father told me about it, so I don't know if it was entirely true."

"I see," Harold muttered. "So, there is a chance he either didn't give my parents' location to Voldemort, or he wasn't my father's best friend?"

"Or he simply wasn't the Dark Lord's closest follower," Hermione chipped in, fumbling with the straps on Crookshanks' basket. The cat leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Harold's lap. Harold petted the cat idly as he stared out the window.

The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened. People were chasing backward and forward past the door of their compartment. Then, someone opened it, revealing themselves to be Ginny.

"Hi, guys," she said shyly. "Um, Harold, can I sit in here? I tried sitting with my brothers, but they don't know how to be civil..."

"I'm surprised you didn't come to us first," Harold said, in a somewhat cold tone. "Mean we so little to you, compared to your brothers?"

"N-No! Not at all!" Ginny said immediately, before blushing. "I mean, no... But Mum wanted me to try to make peace with them, but it seems they don't want to..."

"He means, come on in," Draco said, patting the empty seat next to him. "Sit down. Harold and I will help you with your trunk, right, Harold?"

Harold grunted as he picked the trunk up himself, before Draco had even started to rise out of his seat, and put it up on the luggage rack.

It started to rain, and the rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north. The windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks.

"We must be nearly there," Draco said, looking out the now completely black window.

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

"Perfect timing," Draco said brightly, but Hermione looked concerned, checking her watch.

"We can't be there yet..."

"Then the question is, why are we stopping?" Harold asked.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Harold got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out, and they were plunged into total darkness.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, and Harold could see, with his vampire eyes, that Draco's heart had started beating faster, his blood pumping much faster through his body.

"Do you think we've broken down?" Hermione whispered. Her heart, too, had started pumping faster, as had Ginny's. If Harold wasn't so focused on moving back to his seat and looking out the window, he would have gotten hungry.

"Quiet," Harold ordered, and he took out his handkerchief, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

"What do you see?"

"Dementors," Harold said, seeing the hooded figures making their way onto the train.

"D-Dementors?" Draco stuttered. "Here? No, they can't be unsupervised around schoolchildren!"

"Obviously, they can..." Harold said, sitting down again. "Hermione, some light, please."

There was a clinking sound, and then the compartment was lit up by some bluebell flames inside a glass jar that Hermione was holding. Just then, the door slowly slid open.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Hermione's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling, its face completely hidden beneath its hood.

And then, the dementor drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all, and Harold shot to his feet, glaring at the dementor.

"Cease!" he ordered, and at once, the cold disappeared as the dementor flinched. "Cease you search at once! Leave this train!"

The dementor drew another rattling breath as it slowly drifted out of the compartment and floated down the corridor.

"I'll never get over how intimidating you can be..." Draco muttered. He was paler than usual, and was sweating, his eyes wide. "We're lucky you were here."

Soon enough, the lights came back on, and the train slowly started moving again.

–

"Welcome!" Dumbledore said in the Great Hall, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued after a brief pause, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises, or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said.

Dumbledore paused again. He looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.

"On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

"Look at Snape," Draco whispered to Harold, who was balancing his fork on his finger. Harold looked and was surprised at what he saw.

Snape was staring along the staff table at Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but Harold was surprised at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: it was loathing.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

None of the Slytherins clapped, because Harold didn't clap. But they didn't need to. The Gryffindor clapped hard enough for all four tables.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore said once the clapping died down. "Let the feast begin!"

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give for some human blood right now..." Harold muttered as he helped himself to a steak. Meat just didn't taste the same as blood.

"Cheer up," Draco said, helping himself to a little bit of everything. "It could be worse. You could have nothing at all to eat."

"But look at them," Harold said, looking around at the students. "All of them filled to the brim with blood, and I'm not even allowed to sample..."

Harold idly noticed how Draco was staring at him strangely as Harold gazed around at the people around them.

"Harold, are you alright? You're scaring me..."

"I'm fine. Just hungry," Harold said and looked down at his steak, slowly cutting it up and eating it.

–

Harold was tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in the common room, watching a pair of first-years passing him. His eyes glazed over as he heard they hearts beating, pumping blood through their veins...

"What's wrong with you lately?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was looking at Harold strangely. "You seem... edgy..."

"I'm hungry," Harold said. "Verona has told me that as I grow stronger, so will my thirst. I'm used to being able to leave the castle and feast whenever I wanted, but now, with Dumbledore watching..."

"You think he doesn't trust you?"

"Only a fool would," Harold admitted, still tapping his foot.

"Um, Harold?" came a shy voice, and Harold looked to the side to see Pansy sitting down next to him on the couch he was sitting on. "If... If you're hungry..." she muttered as she rolled up her sleeve. "...you can drink some of my blood... I mean, if you want..."

Harold blinked, then looked down at Pansy's exposed wrist, his eyes glazing over again.

"Are you sure, Pansy?" Harold asked, feeling the need to do so. Pansy nodded.

"Well, it won't turn me into a vampire, right?"

"No."

"Then feel free."

Harold slowly took Pansy's arm, then brought it up to his mouth as his canines grew into long fangs, and he bit down on her wrist, making her gasp in pain.

Her blood flowed into his mouth, and Harold's eyes snapped open as he greedily drank it. He drank and drank, Draco watching in fascination, and Pansy panting. Then, he pulled away, licking at the two puncture marks and watching as they healed.

"Thank you, Pansy," he breathed. Pansy was swaying a bit, looking a little woozy, but she still managed to smile at Harold.

"It was my pleasure, Harold," she said a bit dreamily as she got to her feet. She stumbled a bit, but somehow made it to the girls' dorms alright.

"Have you read the Prophet?" Draco asked finally, still looking a bit fascinated by Harold's diet. "They reckon Black's been spotted."

"Yes, I know," Harold said, clenching his fists. "I have half a mind to go track him down..."

–

"Homework, a foot-long essay on Shrinking Solutions and its effects," Snape said to his class at the end of one Potions class. "And Slytherins, come up to me and hand in your Hogsmeade permission forms."

As the Gryffindors left the classroom, Hermione waving to Harold and Draco, who waved back, the Slytherins walked up to Snape's desk, Harold and Draco in the lead.

"Dracula, what is this?" Snape asked as Harold handed over his permission form. "Five signatures?"

"Well, Professor, I am emancipated, but I didn't know if my signature was enough," Harold explained. "So, I had all four of my guardians sign it, just in case."

"I see..." Snape said slowly, scrutinizing the permission form, as if looking for any sign of a forgery.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" Harold asked politely, and finally Snape tore his eyes away from the form, shaking his head.

"No, Dracula. Now, off you go."

"Yes, Professor."

With a bow of his head, Harold walked away, followed by Draco, who handed in his own permission form.

"But then again, Hogsmeade is nothing new to us, is it?" Draco said with a smirk as they made their way toward the common room. "Not with the secret passageway you found into Hogsmeade."

"But now we can be out in the open, and not have to worry about getting caught," Harold said, also smirking.

October the thirty-first arrived, and Harold and Draco could be seen heading down toward Hogsmeade with a large group of Slytherins.

"Get me some bloodpops. I'll be at the Three Broomsticks," Harold told Crabbe, who nodded and rushed off toward Honeydukes. It felt good, having these servants around to do his bidding. They now obeyed him without question, whereas during the first few years there would be some loyalty issues, which were quickly rectified.

As they headed for the Three Broomsticks, however, Harold stopped rather suddenly and sniffed the air once. He looked to his right, to see a large, shabby, black dog strutting through Hogsmeade, an old newspaper in its mouth. Harold narrowed his eyes at the dog. He felt no connection to that animal... Just like with Weasley's rat...

"What's wrong, Harold?" Pansy asked in concern from behind him. Harold shook his head.

"Nothing... It's nothing. Let's go."

With that, he started toward the Three Broomsticks again.

They returned to school late in the evening and made their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, many of which started circling Harold, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

The food was delicious, as always. The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding.

As they made their way toward the dungeons after the feast, Harold stopped and sniffed the air once more, his brow furrowing in confusion. It was the same smell as that dog from earlier. But, surely, that dog couldn't have made it into Hogwarts... right?

"What's wrong now?" Draco asked. Harold slowly shook his head.

"I don't know, but I don't like it. Something seems-"

"There you are," came the voice of Snape as he made his way over to the Slytherins. "All students are to gather in the Great Hall once more. March, off you go!"

And so they found themselves once more in the Great Hall, accompanied by the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, who all looked extremely confused, except for the Gryffindors.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore told them as McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy Weasley, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."

Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..."

One casual wave of his wand, and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls. Another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," Dumbledore said, closing the door behind him.

As the hall immediately began to buzz excitedly, Harold and Draco grabbed a sleeping bag each and dragged them into a corner, soon joined by Hermione.

"What happened?" Harold asked immediately as soon as they had laid down.

"The Fat Lady, the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room, was attacked by Sirius Black," Hermione whispered, looking thoroughly confused. "But I have no idea what he could possibly want in there..."

"I have an idea..." Harold muttered, then he got down as low as he could, making sure no one was looking at him. "Make sure no one takes my sleeping bag."

"What-" Draco started, but just then, Harold slowly dissolved into black mist, which dispersed into the air.

The mist made its way to the grand doors of the Great Hall, moved through the entrance hall, and out the door, toward the Whomping Willow.

Once there, the mist made its way into a hole at the roots of the tree, where Harold rematerialized in a small tunnel, which he had used many times before, a long tunnel that led straight into the Shrieking Shack. The smell of the dog was all over the place, just as he suspected...

He made his way down the tunnel, his vampire vision easily seeing through the darkness. He pulled himself out of the hole into the very disordered, very dusty room of the Shrieking Shack. Paper was peeling from the walls, there were stains all over the floor, every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it, and the windows were all boarded up.

The room was deserted, but Harold noticed something that was very off about the room. The door to the right that Harold had closed the last time he was there stood open.

Harold heard a creak overhead and slowly crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. He reached the dark landing and made his way toward the only open door there.

Inside the room, on a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hanging, lay Crookshanks, and seated next to him was a man with filthy, matted hair that hung to his elbows, eyes that were deep inside their sockets, and waxy skin stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.

The man looked up at Harold, and for a moment, they just stared into each other's eyes. Then, the man shot to his feet, reaching into his robes and pulling out a wand, but Harold had already crossed the distance between them, knocked the wand out of the man's hand, and closed his hand around his throat, lifting him into the air with one arm.

"Sirius Black, I presume?" he asked, his eyes cold and deadly. "Do you, perchance, have any last words before I snap your neck like a twig?"

Sirius Black coughed as Harold squeezed his throat.

"I don't mind if you kill me, Harry..." he wheezed out, a hint of a grin on his face, showing off his yellowish teeth. "But I have a job to do first..."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Harold asked, glaring at him. "And my name is Harold Dracula."

"V-Very well... Harold... My job is to get a hold of Peter Pettigrew... He's in the castle right now... He's the one who really betrayed your parents..."

"I had heard that you were the one who betrayed them."

"And who could blame you?" Black said as Harold slowly lowered him to the ground, letting go of him. He rubbed his sore throat. "Sit down, and I'll tell you the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then it's up to you whether you believe me or not. I promise I won't run."

"Alright, talk," Harold said, not sitting down. Black sank onto the bed, sighing.

"Thirteen years ago, your parents found out that Voldemort was after them," he croaked, and Harold saw his eyes held a certain sadness to them. "They went into hiding, and Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm, a charm that involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is impossible to find, unless the Secret-Keeper divulges it."

"And you were that Secret-Keeper," Harold hissed, his fists clenching.

"I wish, Harold. Oh, how I wish I was. Your parents would still be alive. No, we convinced everyone that I was the Secret-Keeper, as Voldemort would surely go after me. We made Peter Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper instead. We thought it was the perfect ruse... We never expected him to run off to Voldemort with the information..." Black muttered. "I as good as betrayed your parents when I made the choice of handing over the title of Secret-Keeper to Pettigrew. After Voldemort murdered your parents, I tracked Pettigrew down and cornered him. He yelled for the whole street to hear that I had betrayed Lily and James, then blew up the street, transformed, and sped into the sewers to join the other rats."

"How did you know Pettigrew was here?"

Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show Harold.

It was a photograph of the Weasley family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet that summer, and there, on Weasley's shoulder, was Scabbers.

"I recognized him at once," Black growled out. "I saw the rat's paw, saw that it was missing a finger, just like Peter did, because he cut his own finger off, leaving a shred of evidence behind when he faked his own death."

"I see..." Harold said slowly. "I believe you, Sirius Black. I sense no lies coming from you. Therefore, I will not kill you."

Black breathed a sigh of relief, and Harold smirked.

"Unless you want me to, of course," he added, which got him a strange look from Black. "I can offer you an eternity as a vampire, a creature of the night..."

"No thanks," Black said, shaking his head. "I prefer being human."

"I see. Very well. Now, let's go capture a rat," Harold said and held out his hand for Black to shake. Black looked at his hand for a few seconds, then extended his own hand, shaking Harold's.

–

"Scabbers?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. She was currently sitting in the Shrieking Shack with Harold, Draco, and Sirius. Sirius had been a little cautious around Draco, but Harold's word seemed to be enough for him to trust the boy. "But... Crookshanks killed him."

"Crookshanks hasn't killed any rats yet, especially not that rat," Sirius said, sitting on the bed with Crookshanks again, petting the purring cat. "The sneaky little bastard probably faked his own death. Wouldn't be the first time."

"So, we're back to square one, then?" Draco asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I mean, if a great black dog can hide for so long, imagine where a rat can hide?"

"Not from me, Draco," Harold said coldly. "There is no place in the world where he can hide from me. I shall send word to the rats... I shall have them search everywhere for the treacherous sneak."

"How can you do that?" Sirius croaked, and Harold smirked.

"I have always had a connection with the creatures of the night, rodents, canines, etcetera."

Draco looked at his watch. "Come on, we'd better get to class, or Snape'll have our heads."

"Snape?" Sirius asked suddenly. "What's Snape got to do with anything?"

"He's a teacher here, teaches Potions," Harold explained, and Sirius gritted his teeth.

"Not a very unbiased teacher, I'd expect?"

"He's only good if you're a Slytherin, like Draco and I, but to Hermione... Well, it's best not to talk about it."

With that, they left the Shrieking Shack, and headed to their Potions class.

Meanwhile, while Harold was sitting in his Potions class, Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, pondering about that very boy. Despite what Dumbledore had believed, Harold had been Sorted into Slytherin. Well, given who he was raised with, that wasn't such a big surprise, especially considering he had made an acquaintance with the young Mr. Malfoy.

But what worried Dumbledore was the similarities between Harold and Tom Riddle.

He was a handsome boy, quiet in class, and seemed to have the admiration of both younger and older students in Slytherin, making him something like the uncrowned king of Slytherin. He was eager to learn, and learn he did. He was brilliant when it came to magic, and he had a certain charm that earned him the favor of the teachers around him.

He was so much like Tom Riddle, it truly scared Dumbledore.

But there were differences. For example, Harold saved Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, and battle Tom Riddle and his basilisk, showing that he had no interest in following in Tom's footsteps. But there were still so many Dark paths he could take...

–

Harold stood in the corner of his dormitory, his cloak wrapped around himself, hiding his body from view. His eyes were closed as he stood in the shadows, almost completely hidden from view. Then, he slowly lowered himself to the floor, his eyes snapping open to see five rats come scurrying out of the shadows, running up to him.

"Talk to me," he whispered, closing his eyes again as the squeaks of the rats reached his ears. The Forbidden Forest was clear, there was no Pettigrew in there... Neither was he anywhere in the castle, but there was a single rat in the gamekeeper Hagrid's hut, who had strange commanding power over the other rats, who had told them to steer clear of that place.

A smirk slowly made its way onto Harold's face.

"Now I have him..." he whispered as he rose to his full height, the rats once more scurrying out of view.

Harold left his dormitory and strode right through the common room, telling Draco, who had just been about to rise from his chair, to stay, before leaving. He marched through the dungeons and up into the entrance hall, where he promptly exploded into mist, seeping through the cracks in the large doors leading out of the castle.

The mist slowly seeped into the hut belonging to Rubeus Hagrid, and just as slowly it rematerialized into Harold, who took a look around. Hagrid was lying on a large bed, snoring loudly with his back to Harold.

Harold felt strangely small, moving around the large furniture as he looked around. Then he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. The massive pulse of Hagrid reached his ears, followed by another pulse, this one smaller, faster, more panicked...

Harold moved over to the counter on the other side of the hut and started following the sound, looking through teapots and jugs.

Then, he found it. Inside a milk jug was a very thin rat, which had bald patches all over its body. Like with Scabbers, he felt no connection to this rat, so it was obvious who it was.

"Hello, Pettigrew," Harold whispered, reaching into the milk jug. He grabbed the rat by the tail and then walked over to the window, opening it and climbing through it.

Harold made his way over to the Whomping Willow and waved his wand. A rock shot over to it and pressed against one of the roots, and the tree immediately went slack, as Harold climbed into the hole at the base of the tree.

He headed down the long tunnel and emerged inside the Shrieking Shack, where he immediately headed upstairs and found Sirius sleeping in the magnificent four-poster.

"Sirius," Harold said, making the man jerk awake, pulling out a wand and pointing it at Harold. Then, he recognized him, and slowly lowered the wand, before spotting the rat in Harold's hand.

"Is there any way to turn him back?" Harold asked, and Sirius nodded.

"Yes. Hold him out for me."

Harold nodded and held out the rat. Sirius waved his wand, and a blue light hit the rat. For a moment, Pettigrew was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly. The rat fell and hit the floor. There was a blinding flash of light, and then...

It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground, limbs were sprouting, and a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands.

He was a very short man, shorter than Harold. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers's fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them both, his breathing fast and shallow. Harold saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.

"Hello, Peter," Sirius growled.

"S-Sirius..." Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. "My friend... my old friend..."

Sirius's wand arm rose, but a warning look from Harold stopped him. Harold looked to Pettigrew.

"You have been running from justice for quite some time, Peter Pettigrew..." he whispered coldly, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "It's about time you got what is coming to you."

"A-Are you going to k-kill me?" Pettigrew whispered frightfully, but Harold shook his head.

"No. You will go to the dementors."

"Y-You can't believe him?" Pettigrew squeaked. "He's-"

"Spare me your words, Pettigrew," Harold hissed dangerously. "I care not for the crooked words of a witless worm..."

"Well said, Harold," Sirius said as he walked over to Pettigrew, waving his wand. A thick chain materialized around Pettigrew's wrist, chaining him to Sirius. "Now, we're going to take a little walk, Peter."

Pettigrew whimpered as Harold led the way down the stairs and to the tunnel leading back to Hogwarts.

"But one wrong move, Wormtail, and you're dead, understand?" Sirius whispered to Pettigrew, who shivered like crazy.

They made their way out of the tunnel and silently tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger.

Then, everything went cold. Harold's eyes widened, as did Sirius and Pettigrew's. Dementors, hundreds of them, were gliding in a black mass across the lawns toward them. They were surrounded by dementors.

Sirius dropped down on all fours, his hands over his head.

"_Nooo,_" he moaned. "_Noooo... please..._"

"Cease this!" Harold ordered at once, but the dementors kept drifting closer. "Cease your activities at once!"

But it was useless. One of the dementors reached him, and with a force Harold didn't know a dementor had, it pushed Harold out of the way, sending him flying a good ten feet. Then, they swarmed on Sirius and Pettigrew, the latter of which who screamed as his head was grabbed by one of the dementors.

"NO!" Harold roared as he shot to his feet, watching as one of the dementors lowered itself over Sirius, lowering its hood.

Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, gray scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth... a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle...

It lowered itself down on Sirius, and clamped its mouth down over his. Harold's eyes widened, and immediately, a rage started filling him.

The dementors flinched suddenly as the wind started picking up. Harold's body grew a good five inches, his hair grew to reach his shoulders, and his eyes were wide and filled with rage. The starlit night was shrouded by storm clouds as thunder rumbled, and Harold strode over to the hoodless dementor, who looked up at him just in time for Harold to grab it by the jaw, pulling it closer. His skin was now chalk white, and the dementor's rattling breath caught in its throat as Harold squeezed.

"Spit it out..." Harold hissed to the dementor, which squirmed to get out of his grasp. "**SPIT. IT. OUT.**"

The other dementors scattered, and the remaining dementor slowly glided back over to Sirius and clamped its mouth down on his when Harold let it go. Sirius gave a jerk, and the dementor immediately glided away as Sirius shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide.

"H-Harold..." he stuttered as Harold watched the dementors glide away. The storm clouds dispersed, Pettigrew was huddling on the ground, whimpering, and Harold's wide, rage-filled eyes slowly closed. Then, he passed out.

–

"Don't know what happened... The dementors refuse to enter the grounds..."

"Well, we are lucky, are we not? An innocent man has been freed."

"Yes... terrible mistake, Dumbledore... Mr. Black, you will, of course, be compensated..."

Harold groaned when the voices reached his ears.

"Harold!" came Sirius's voice, and Harold slowly opened his eyes to find himself in the hospital wing, with Sirius, shaved and with a haircut, Dumbledore, and a man in a bottle-green suit, a limegreen bowler hat, and a pinstriped cloak standing at the foot of his bed.

"Sirius?" Harold asked, blinking. "What happened?"

"Sirius here has just been freed, my boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "He brought you and Peter Pettigrew up to the castle just a few hours ago."

"Hello, Harold. I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," the man in the bottle-green suit said, fiddling with his bowler hat. "Terrible ordeal, this... I never expected... I mean, the dementors had been ordered not to enter the grounds..."

"It trust they will be sent back to Azkaban?" Harold asked, and Fudge nodded.

"Along with Peter Pettigrew, yes," he said.

"Good... Good..."

"Well, I must take my leave. Mr. Black, if you would, please, follow me, and we'll get the paperwork for your release done."

"Of course, Minister," Sirius said, winking at Harold, before following Fudge out of the hospital wing, leaving Harold and Dumbledore alone.

"Well, you seem to have had quite a night, Harold," Dumbledore said, smiling down at Harold. "And you seem to have grown a couple of inches."

"Yes," Harold said thoughtfully as he ran a hand through his hair. "I have no idea how that happened."

"No idea?" Dumbledore inquired, his twinkling eyes locking with Harold's, who immediately put up his impressive Occlumency shields.

"None."

"I see. Well, my boy, I must be off. I have to inform the staff of the night's developments," Dumbledore said, and with a bow, he left the hospital wing.

The following day, Harold, very hungry all of a sudden, was aching to be released from the hospital wing, but to his surprise, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him go.

"Not until you've had something to eat," she said sternly, and then, even more to his surprise, she handed him a blood bag.

"You...?"

"Oh, please... Red eyes, pale skin, the name Dracula, and your sudden growth spurt," Madam Pomfrey said, scoffing as Harold slowly took the blood bag. "It is no big stretch to assume what you are. But not to worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," Harold said, nodding as he bit off the corner of the blood bag and started drinking.

An hour later found Harold sitting in the common room, leaning back in the couch with a woozy Pansy sitting next to him, rubbing her wrist. In a nearby chair sat Draco, watching him.

"Well, I have to say, you don't look worse," he admitted, nodding. "You look much better, in fact."

"I agree," Pansy said, gesturing for Harold's ponytail. "I especially like your hair."

Harold just hummed as he stared up at the ceiling. Then, he looked to Draco.

"Any plans for the summer?"

"Christmas hasn't even arrived yet," Draco said, shaking his head. "I don't plan that far ahead, but I do know Father and I are going to the Quidditch World Cup Finals next summer."

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we start fourth year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

"_But I am not a man, Muggle," the cold voice said, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However... why not? I will face you... Wormtail, come turn my chair around."_

_The servant gave a whimper._

"_You heard me, Wormtail."_

_Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly, triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug._

_And then the chair was facing the old Frank Bryce, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor._

Thousands of miles away, in the Carpathian Mountains, near the Borgo Pass, in Castle Dracula, Harold Dracula woke with a start, his whole body drenched in sweat. He lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had his hand pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers, as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.

Next to him, Aleera made a meowing noise as she snuggled closer to him. Aleera had taken to Harold's changes like a fish to water, and wanted him even more after that. Harold just didn't feel like rejecting her anymore. His changes had brought about great... well, _changes_ in him. He felt more aware of his surroundings, his urges were peaked, including his thirst and his sexual urges.

Harold rose from his bed and got dressed, ignoring Aleera's Romanian pleas for him to come back to bed, and ran a finger over his scar again. He walked out onto the balcony and watched the sun slowly rising in the distance.

"_One more murder... my faithful servant at Hogwarts... Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail."_

Lord Voldemort had said those words... Harold took a deep breath, his cold, red eyes gazing down on the impaled skeletons on the grounds. So, they would meet again, then?

Wormtail... Pettigrew had managed to escape the Aurors by transforming into a rat. It seemed that he had found his way back to Lord Voldemort, and was helping him get to Harold.

Now, Harold would have respected Lord Voldemort, who was a being of such great power, but what bothered him was that Voldemort had used Harold's birth name when referring to him... That was unforgivable...

With a sweep of his cloak, Harold turned into mist and dispersed into the air, intent on going to the village and getting himself a snack.

–

"My word..."

Harold stood with Draco, Mr. Malfoy, and Mrs. Malfoy outside the gigantic Quidditch stadium where the Quidditch World Cup Final was going to take place. Staring up at the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"It seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Malfoy told the two Slytherins with a smirk. "A Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it," he said, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" the Ministry witch at the entrance said when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Mr. Malfoy, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. They kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harold looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high. Right opposite them, almost at Harold eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again.

"Oh, but here's Lucius!" came the voice of Minister Cornelius Fudge, who was standing with the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.

"Ah, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said, holding out a hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge said, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "Oh, and Harold himself! How are you, my boy?"

"Good, Minister," Harold said politely, shaking Fudge's hand.

"And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk... Obalonsk... Mr... well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else... you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

"Hello, Ginny," Harold said pleasantly, ignoring the staring contest taking place between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley. Ginny smiled when she saw them.

"Hi, Harold. Hello, Draco."

"How are you, Ginny?" Draco said with a smile, and Ginny blushed slightly.

"I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm great."

"Let's sit, shall we?" Harold asked, taking the seat right behind Ginny, while Draco took a seat to his left. The other Weasleys, except for the two oldest that Harold had never seen before, were glaring at the two of them.

Just then, a man burst into the Top Box. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed. The robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had before. His nose was squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister, ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadion. His voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

–

People were running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward Harold and Draco. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them. Then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing upward, was marching slowly across the field of tents on the other side of the woods next to the Quidditch stadium. Their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, fours struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

"Look at them," Harold said to Draco, his arms crossed. "Thousands of wizards and witches fleeing at the sight of a few drunken idiots in masks. That is the power of symbols, Draco, of names."

"Like yours in Transylvania?" Draco wanted to know, and Harold nodded.

"Exactly. I can wander the streets of the nearby villages, and the villagers flee at the mere sight of me, without even bothering to find out if I do have power or not. Take these drunken idiots for example," he said, gesturing for the Death Eaters as a few of the tents caught on fire, causing the screaming to go louder. "They're drunk, unruly, and probably no good in a duel. And even if they were, they wouldn't be able to handle hundreds of wizards at once, yet everyone flees before them. Why do you think that is?"

"Because they have gotten themselves such a terrifying reputation in the past?"

"Exactly, my friend. Fear is the ultimate weapon. With fear, one can conquer the world."

"You sound like you want it," Draco said, giving Harold a strange look.

"Not the world, my friend. Maybe the magical world, but not the Muggle world... After all, who _isn't_ interested in ruling the world when they have powers like mine?"

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, him, of course, but he's an obvious exception. Now, come on, we don't want to be seen here."

They moved into the woods, following the path toward the Quidditch stadium. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harold and Draco, a girl with thick, curly hair turned and said quickly, "_Where is Madame Maxime? We are lost..._" in French.

"Um... What?" Draco asked.

"Oh..." the girl who had spoken said, and she looked about to turn her back on them, when Harold took her hand, leaning down and planting a kiss on her knuckles.

"_Forgive me, madame, but we have not seen this Madame Maxime. We will, however, help you find her, of course,_" he spoke in perfect French, and the girl blushed.

"_Merci,_" she said, and looped her arm with Harold's. Harold looked back at Draco.

"Come along, Draco, let's help these tasty little morsels find their Madame Maxime."

"What a charmer," Draco muttered to himself as he followed Harold, who chuckled.

"_So, my ladies, are you, perchance, from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic?_" Harold asked the group of teenagers, who nodded. "_Ah, I've heard that it's quite beautiful there._"

The girls giggled to themselves as they walked. Then, after about five minutes, however, something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the trees some distance away, making the girls scream in surprise. It was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

"Dear, dear," Harold said, clicking his tongue and looking to Draco. "I daresay they've gone a bit too far, wouldn't you say?"

Draco was staring at the symbol in fear and nodded. No one would be stupid enough to summon the Dark Mark like that, after all. Well, someone had to be that stupid, after all.

"You were talking about fear earlier..."

"The greatest fear of all," Harold confirmed with a nod. "I think I will have to change that."

"So that they'll fear you more?" Draco asked with a smirk directed at Harold, who smirked right back.

"Of course."

–

"Oh, my," Harold said as he looked over the Daily Prophet, walking through platform nine and three-quarters with the quadruplets. Eleesia was pushing his trolley, and the other three were talking amongst themselves about the dreary state of the Englishmen they passed. Robes and wizard's hats, it was such an ugly look.

"What is is, my Lord?" Marishka asked curiously.

"This Rita Skeeter woman really does have a poisonous quill. I've been following her articles, and I find them most... interesting..."

"How so, Master?"

"The articles are made up mostly of lies, rumors, and half-truths, yet the public seems to believe everything she writes... If I could get this woman on my side, she would be most useful to me..."

"Maybe you should seduce her, my Lord," Aleera purred with a smirk.

"Maybe if she's good-looking," Harold said as they reached the train. Harold grabbed his trunk and got on board, before leaning out and kissing each quadruplet on the cheek, except for Aleera, who he kissed on the lips. "Well, good-bye, for now. I shall see you next summer."

"Hopefully, you will bringing a new woman home," Aleera purred, waving, only to get elbowed by Verona.

"Take care, my Lord," Marishka said, waving as well.

"Strike fear into the hearts of your fellow students, Master," Eleesia said, doing the same.

Harold waved back, then went inside again, walking through the train until he found the compartment containing Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini. Harold didn't have to do more than make a gesture with his hand, before everyone except Draco cleared out of the compartment.

"Will there be another eventful year, or will we have to endure the dull monotony that is everyday school life?" Harold asked, lifting his trunk up on the luggage rack.

"Well, Father told me that the Triwizard Tournament will take place in Hogwarts this year."

"The Triwizard Tournament?" came a new voice, and they both looked to the door to see Hermione standing there. Harold immediately got up from his seat where he had just sat down to help her lift her trunk up on the luggage rack. "I've heard of that."

"I haven't, so tell me about it," Harold said as he sat down again.

"Well, the Triwizard Tournament is a magical contest held by the three largest schools of Europe: Hogwarts, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, each school being represented by one Champion," Hermione explained as she sat down as well, smiling when the train started moving. "Selected Champions compete in three tasks, traditionally judged by the Headmasters or Headmistresses of the competing schools, designed to test magical ability, intelligence, and courage. Champions compete for the honor and glory of winning the Tournament, and for the Triwizard Cup and a monetary prize. The first Tournament was held in Twelve ninety-four, and the was discontinued after seventeen ninety-two, after a cockatrice escaped and injured the three judges."

"You read too much," Draco said simply, looking impressed that Hermione could memorize so much. "Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He and the headmaster are old Death Eater friends. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore, and Durmstrang doesn't admit Muggle-borns. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense that we do..."

"The only Dark Arts worth learning are those you find out yourself. Learning Dark Arts from a teacher?" Harold said with a scoff. "In Scholomance, one learns the basics of the Dark Arts, then you teach yourself."

"Scholomance, is that where your ancestor learned his Dark Arts?" Hermione asked eagerly, always interested in hearing about other magical schools. She didn't seem as repulsed by the Dark Arts as she would have been in first year.

"Indeed," Harold said, then clapped his hands together. "So, we are to play host to the Triwizard Tournament, then? I'd imagine there is some sort of a ball involved. Why else would we be asked to bring dress robes?"

"You actually brought dress robes?" Draco asked in surprise.

"Of course not," Harold said with a disgusted look on his face. "I brought some of my ancestor's old clothes. I just know they will look very good on me."

"How can you know, when you can't look in a mirror?" Hermione asked curiously, and Harold smirked.

"But there is one mirror that I have been able to see myself in."

"But I thought you didn't see what you looked like, just yourself wearing... Aaah," Draco said, his eyes widening in realization. Hermione looked confused.

"What? What mirror?"

"The Mirror of Erised," Draco supplied. They hadn't told Hermione what Harold had seen in it. "Harold saw himself in it, but it was a very gruesome scene he saw."

"What did he see?" she asked, before turning to Harold. "What did you see?"

Harold told her. Hermione went wide-eyed. Then, she asked a question.

"You didn't see me in there, did you?"

Harold laughed.

"No, all the people in that reflection were faceless."

"Oh, good. Then I have no problem with what you saw."

The group spent the rest of the journey talking about the Triwizard Tournament, until finally the Hogwarts Express slowed down and stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Harold was the only one who wasn't bothered by the rain, and merely walked as though it was a warm, sunny day, while the others had their heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as thought buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

A hundred Thestral-drawn carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Harold, Hermione, and Draco climbed into one of them, and the door shut with a snap. A few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

–

Harold yawned as he sat at the Slytherin table. The two schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, had just arrived at Hogwarts, and while the Beauxbatons lot had sat down at the Ravenclaw table, the Durmstrangs were still standing awkwardly in the doorway, as though not quite sure where to sit.

Finally, they seemed to decide, and came to sit down at the Slytherin table, Viktor Krum sitting down across from Harold and Draco, both who extended their hands.

"I am Harold Dracula, welcome to Hogwarts," Harold said as Krum shook his hand, before shaking Draco's.

"Draco Malfoy, nice to meet you."

Krum grunted, then looked down at his plate. Harold leaned toward Draco.

"Rather unpleasant fellow, isn't it?" he muttered, and Draco nodded.

"Guess the big-shot Quidditch star thinks himself above talking to the 'lower class,'" he whispered.

The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest. A couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion. Harold was surprised to see that he added four chair, two on either side of Dumbledore's.

"Why is Filch putting out four chairs?" he asked Draco, who looked to the staff table.

"Oh, that? Father said that Bagman and Crouch would be judging, too. They were the ones who made the Tournament possible, after all."

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

"Good evenin ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and, most particularly, guests," Dumbledore said, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Dumbledore said. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sat down, and Harold saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops. There was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harold had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

As they ate, Harold noticed that the Beauxbatons girl who had laughed earlier had removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blond hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

The girl locked eyes with Harold, who stared back at her, taken by her beauty. The girl seemed equally interested, and she stared at Harold just as much as he stared at her, a small smile on her face.

"If you're done staring at her..." Draco said, looking weirdly at Harold. "Hello? Harold?"

"Hm?" Harold hummed, still looking at the girl.

"Well, if you're done staring, why don't you take a look at who just showed up?"

He was pointing up at the staff table. The two empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Karkaroff's other side, and Crouch, with a toothbrush mustache and a very serious face, was next to Madame Maxime.

Once the plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again.

"The moment has come," he said, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," there was a smattering of polite applause, "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word 'champions,' the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways... their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deductions, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the hall was filled with a silence so absolute that no one seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid slowly creaked open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore said. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage wizard yields to temptation," Dumbledore continued, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"An Age Line!" Draco said as they got out of their seats. "That's it? You could probably get past it, couldn't you?"

"Of course I could," Harold said simply. He didn't mind tooting his own horn, so calling himself the greatest student Hogwarts had seen in a long time wasn't such a stretch. "But until the start of this school year, I had never even heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so eternal glory isn't exactly something that's true, and I have enough gold to last me seven lifetimes of splurging. So why should I enter?"

"Very true," Draco said, nodding as they made their way down to the dungeons.

–

As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harold and Draco, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than everyone else. When they came up into the entrance hall, they saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin, golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.

"Has anyone put their name in yet?" Harold asked a nearby Slytherin, who nodded.

"All the Durmstrang lot," he said. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

Someone laughed behind Harold. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the Weasley twins and their friend, who usually commentated the Quidditch matches, Jordan, Harold believed his name was, hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited as they made their way up to Weasley and Ginny, who were also in the entrance hall.

"Done it," Harold heard one of the twins tell Weasley and Ginny in a triumphant whisper. "Just taken it."

"What?" Weasley said.

"The Aging Potion, dung brains," the twin said.

"One drop each," the other twin said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," Jordan said, grinning broadly.

Harold watched as one of the twins pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket. The twin walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.

The other twin certainly thought it had worked, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after his brother, but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long, white beards.

"Fools," Harold muttered with a shake of his head as he headed into the Great Hall, passing Dumbledore in the doorway. "As if Dumbledore would draw an Age Line that would be fooled by an Aging Potion..."

"Well, they _are_ Gryffindors. What did you expect?" Draco said with a shrug.

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner.

"Anyone from our House entered?" Draco asked whoever listened as he and Harold sat down at the Slytherin table.

"I did," Warrington, a dumb brute who looked something like a sloth, said a few seats away. He was the only one who said anything, and Harold nodded.

Once they had had their breakfast, Harold and Draco made their way down to the lake, and Draco was very confused as to why.

"What are we doing down here?" Draco asked as Harold held out his arms.

"Training."

"Training? For what?"

"I just wish to perfect my powers. Some of them are still very subpar. For example, my weather-control is horrible. Observe."

Harold closed his eyes and concentrated. A distant rumble of thunder was heard, and storm clouds started forming in the sky. Then, it started raining lightly. There was no storm, or heavy rain, and no thunder as Harold opened his eyes.

Draco held out his hand, watching as the drops hit the palm of his hand.

"Well... at least it's raining..."

Harold panted slightly, humming to himself.

When the evening arrived, the rain was still falling, but nowhere near the storm that Harold had been hoping for. Together, Harold and Draco made their way up the sloping lawns.

The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them.

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall, it was almost full. The Goblet of fire had been moved. It was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the staff table.

After a grand feast, and when the golden plates had returned to their original spotless state, Dumbledore got to his feet, and the upswing in the level of noise within the hall died away almost instantly. On either side of Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore said. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table, "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

HE took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it. At once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting... A few people kept checking their watches...

The flames inside the goblet suddenly turned red. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flames shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered from it, and the whole hall gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

A storm of applause and cheering swept the hall. Harold watched as Viktor Krum, sitting across from him, rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore. He turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff boomed, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused once again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said, "is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl, who Harold had been watching ever since she arrived, who had been watching him as well, got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blond hair, and swept up between the Raveclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement that you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next...

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more. Sparks showered out of it, the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The uproar from the Hufflepuff table was the greatest. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out, "Harold Dracula."

Silence...

Harold sat there, aware of every single head in the Great Hall having turned in his direction. Up at the top table, McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.

"What?" Harold demanded, rising to his feet with a sweep of his cloak. "This is an outrage! I did not put my name in there!"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then straightened up, nodding to McGonagall. Then, he spoke, "Harold! Up here, if you please!"

Gritting his teeth in righteous rage, Harold set off up the gap between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. When he reached Dumbledore, the unsmiling headmaster said, "Well... through the door, Harold."

Harold moved off along the teachers' table and went through the door out of the Great Hall, finding himself in a smaller room lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him.

The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur looked around when Harold walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze 'all?"

"_Silence!_" Harold snapped at her in Romanian. He didn't have the patience for misunderstandings right now. Something incredibly annoying had happened, after all. Then again, this might break the monotony of everyday life, so maybe it wasn't all bad... Fleur flinched at his words, even though she didn't understand them.

There was a sound of scurrying feet behind Harold, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harold by the arm and led him forward, but Harold wrenched his arm out of his grip easily.

"Extraordinary," Bagman muttered. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen... lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce, incredible thought it may seem, the _fourth_ Triwizard champion?"

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harold. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harold and back again as thought sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harold's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "'E cannot compete. 'E is too young."

Harold felt tempted to speak, but kept silent for now. It wouldn't do to make the lady cry here and now by verbally tearing into her.

"Well... it is amazing," Bagman said, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harold. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name came out of the goblet... I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage... It's down in the rules, you're obliged... Harold will just have to do the best he-"

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape. Harold heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before McGonagall closed the door.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur said at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

"Little boy?" Harold demanded angrily. "You dare call me a little boy?!"

"Harold..." Dumbledore said, but Harold ignored him and strode over to Fleur, standing at the same height as her, and stared right into her eyes.

"I am Count Harold Dracula, Heir to the Houses of Dracul and Potter! I am no _little boy_!"

Fleur flinched at the rage in Harold's eyes, which almost glowed with power as he glared at her. Madame Maxime, however, paid him no heed, and instead drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she asked imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "_Two_ Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions, or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"_C'est impossible_," Madame Maxime said, her enormous hand with its many superb opals resting on Fleur's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"Do not blame Dumbledore, or Dracula, Karkaroff," Snape said softly, his black eyes staring into Karkaroff's. "This is not their fault."

"Is it not?" Karkaroff asked, raising an eyebrow. "Either Dumbledore made a mistake with the Age Line, or the boy cheated somehow, it is simple as-"

Karkaroff was interrupted by a snarl from Harold. His blood red eyes glowed again as a swarm of bats flew out from within his cape, disappearing in a blood red mist when they reached the ceiling. Harold swung his arm overhead, and when he pointed it at Karkaroff, a long silver rapier formed out of a blood red mist, pointed at Karkaroff's throat.

"You dare challenge my honor?" he demanded, snarling and showing his razor sharp fangs. Everyone was silent as Harold glared daggers at Karkaroff, and the light from the fireplace seemed to dim, allowing the room to grow ever darker. "Draculs have a right to be proud, and no one shall call me a cheat, or so help me, I shall strike you down where you stand! I care not if you are teacher, noble, or king, you will die by my hand!"

"Tell me, Count Dracula," Karkaroff said, his voice finally breaking slightly as he stared at the tip of the sword, and Harold could smell a slight fear coming off him. "Are you related to Vlad Tepes, the first Dracula?"

"Tepes?" Madame Maxime asked, and Karkaroff nodded.

"Yes. Means the Impaler. He was a bloodthirsty butcher, who committed unspeakable acts of torture upon the peasants, cutting off their hands and feet, gouging out their eyes, and then impaling them on iron spikes," Karkaroff said, making Madame Maxime's eyes widen, and Harold gave the faintest of shrugs.

"They had it coming."

"What could zey have possibly done to deserve such barbaric treatment?" Madame Maxime demanded.

"There is a saying, '_Tu trebuie să stea în patul tău așa cum a făcut._'"

"What does zat mean?"

Harold smirked and said, "You must lie in your bed the way you made it."

"That is quite enough," Dumbledore spoke softly. "Harold, please lower the sword."

"As you wish," Harold said, lowering the sword, which dispersed into blood red mist. Dumbledore gazed intently at Harold.

"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harold?" he asked calmly. "Or did you ask an older student to do it for you?"

"No," Harold said honestly. Then, when he saw Madame Maxime open her mouth, he said, "And to claim otherwise is an insult to myself and my House. So whoever dares make an enemy of House Dracul, let them speak..."

"Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman," Karkaroff said, his voice unctuous, "you are our, er, objective judges. Surely, you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in a curt voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," Bagman said, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," Karkaroff said. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his sile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"Have you that little faith in your champion, Professor Karkaroff?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely, you don't think an underage wizard could possibly compete with your champion?"

"No, of course not..." Karkaroff said, taken a bit off-guard by this question. "I mean to say, it's only fair that each school has two champions."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," Bagman said. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out... it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament-"

"In which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" Karkaroff exploded. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," a voice growled from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud _clunk_.

"Convenient?" Karkaroff said. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

Harold could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away. They had balled themselves into fists.

"Don't you?" Moody said quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Dracula's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze same apple!" Madame Maxime said.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," Karkaroff said, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic _and _the International Confederation of Wizards..."

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Dracula," Moody growled.

"Why should 'e complain?" Fleur burst out, stamping her foot. "'E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools!" A thousand Galleons in prize money! Zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Dracula _is_ going to die for it," Moody said with the merest trace of a growl.

"Hah!" Harold laughed into the extremely tense silence that followed these words. "A thousand Galleons? Pocket change. Honor for the school, I could care less. If anything, I would, had it not been for the Age Line, have only competed to break the dull monotony that is everyday school life."

"How this situation arose, we do not know," Dumbledore said, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice by to accept it. Both Cedric and Harold have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do..."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr..."

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one, either. Karkaroff looked livid. Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he asked, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

"Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes... the first task..."

He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harold thought he looked rather ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that hadn't been there the day before.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harold, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard... very important... The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," Dumbledore said, looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," Mr. Crouch said. "It's a very busy, very difficult time at the moment... I've left young Weatherby in charge... Very enthusiastic... a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told..."

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" Dumbledore said.

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" Bagman said brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," Crouch said with a touch of impatience.

"Professor Karkaroff... Madame Maxime... a nightcap?" Dumbledore said.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harold could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

"Harold, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," Dumbledore said, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Slytherin and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harold glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together.

The Great Hall was deserted now. The candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality, perfect for Harold.

"So," Cedric said with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other!"

Harold grunted, deep in thought. Who would profit from having Harold die in the Tournament? The answer was obvious. Voldemort. But from the dream Harold had, Voldemort had said nothing about killing him, only using him for something...

"So... tell me..." Cedric said as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How _did_ you get your name in?"

"Are you really that eager to see me partake in my ancestor's traditions?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire, although I will admit that I had an interest in joining until I found out about the age limit."

"Ah... okay," Cedric said. Harold could tell he didn't believe him. "Well... see you, then."

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we continue with fourth year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

Harold was in a fairly small classroom. Most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. Three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harold had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harold had seen her so far. She kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Harold, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harold, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

"Wand weighing?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman said. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."

"Maybe not _that_ small, Ludo," Rita Skeeter said, her eyes on Harold.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harold before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harold. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" Bagman cried. "That is... if Harry has no objection?"

"Not at all," Harold said.

"Lovely," Rita Skeeter said, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door.

"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see... ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."

It was a broom cupboard. Harold stared at her.

"Come along, dear... that's right... lovely," Rita Skeeter said again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harold down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. "Let's see now..."

"I've heard of you," Harold said as Rita Skeeter unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.

"Have you now?" Skeeter asked, raising one heavily penciled eyebrow.

"Indeed I have. I was planning on seducing you and acquiring your services that way, but I find you so repulsive, that I will do it... another way."

Rita Skeeter opened her mouth to speak in outrage, when Harold locked eyes with her, and her body went slack.

"You hear only my voice. From this moment on you are my slave," Harold spoke, using his impressive hypnotic powers on the woman. "You will sacrifice everything to protect me, my honor, and my name. In return, I will give you lives. Not big lives. Flies, spiders... insects... And you will be grateful. Understood?"

Skeeter's eyes were glazed over, but now they came back into focus, and she smiled.

"Yes, Master..."

"Good. Now, this piece you are doing for the Prophet... You will write what an innocent, prodigious boy I am, and how unfortunate it is that someone entered me in the tournament. Do you understand, Rita?"

"Yes, Master, I understand."

"In public, you will not call me Master. You will make every appearance as though we merely good off on the right foot, and we are now friends."

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Now, tell me-"

Before Harold could continue, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harold looked around. Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.

"Dumbledore!" Skeeter cried with every appearance of delight. "How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.

"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the streets-"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," Dumbledore said with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."

Harold nodded and headed back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down next to Fleur, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Skeeter settled herself down in the corner. Harold saw her slip a piece of parchment out of her bag, along with a long, poisonous green quill.

"May I introduce Ollivander?" Dumbledore said, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Harold looked around, and saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Ollivander said, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur swept over to Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hm..." he hummed.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then, he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nina and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," Fleur said. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

So, the girl _was_ part-veela, like Harold had originally suspected...

"Yes," Ollivander said, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if it suits you..."

Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps. Then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," Ollivander said, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" Ollivander said with much more enthusiasm as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn... must have been seventeen hands. Nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition... You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," Cedric said, grinning.

Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duckfooted, toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," Ollivander said, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I... however..."

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

"Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," Ollivander said, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves... Count Dracula."

Harold got to his feet and walked past Krum to Ollivander.

He handed over his wand.

"Oh, my... This is a first..." Ollivander said the second his long fingers touched the black wand. "I have never seen this design before. Who made it?"

"I never got the man's name," Harold said. "I got it in Scholomance."

Gasps went through the gathering of people in the room, and Ollivander almost dropped Harold's wand in shock.

"S-Scholomance, you say?" Ollivander stuttered. "My word... I have heard of their fine wand-making. Never thought I'd live to see one of their creations... Eleven and a quarter inches... ebony... with the... ah, yes, of course... the hair of a vampire..."

"Naturally," Harold said with a nod.

Ollivander spent much longer examining Harold's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harold, announcing that it was in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," Dumbledore said, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now... or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end..."

Harold got up to leave, intent on engaging Fleur Delacour in conversation, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" Bagman cried excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Yes, let's do those first," Skeeter said, nodding. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame. Eventually, she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl. Krum skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harold into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

–

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harold asked after the wand weighing ceremony, stepping into Albus Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore himself was sitting behind his desk, and he was gazing at Harold over the rim of his half moon-shaped spectacles.

"Yes, Harold. As you know, I am not prejudiced. Please, sit down."

Harold nodded and sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Now, I am not prejudiced. I have known about your vampirism ever since you came to this school, so I have allowed you to have certain privileges, given your race's noble traits and certain elegance. I have allowed you to walk around without the school uniform, and your nightly escapades have gone without being berated for it."

"Not to be rude, but do you have a point, Professor?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, my point is that your vampirism is nothing that I frown upon. What I do frown upon, however, is you biting and feeding on Miss Parkinson. I know you do not care who knows if you are a vampire, and you have a right to be proud. However, I would prefer it if you did not transfer your vampirism to anyone else."

"Don't worry, Professor, I am not the normal kind of vampire," Harold said softly. "I was born a vampire. I can only transfer my vampirism by biting someone and then feeding them my blood. Pansy Parkinson has volunteered, without any influence on my part, to let me feed on her. I believe she enjoys the anemic feeling she gets from it."

"I see..." Dumbledore was silent for a few moments, merely gazing at Harold with his piercing, blue eyes. "I have noticed, Harold, that you have quite a peculiar effect on the opposite sex. You have a certain charm that has them falling in line behind you, and-"

"Professor, with all due respect, do you have any proof that I am a wicked fiend who preys on the innocent females of this school, or is this all merely speculation?"

Dumbledore gave a chuckle.

"Oh, Harold, I do not believe that you are, as you say, a wicked fiend. I know that you are a kind, gentle vampire, despite your ancestry. You have displayed an amazing amount of self-control that I have never before seen in a young vampire such as yourself."

"Thank you for the compliment, Professor, but believe me, I haven't used any form of magic to control the Slytherins," Harold said calmly, staring right back into Dumbledore's eyes. "They follow me out of their own free will, and Pansy allows me to feed on her out of her own free will."

Dumbledore gazed intently into Harold's eye, using Legilimency on him, and Harold, who had already prepared a number of false memories, had to suppress a smirk when he felt Dumbledore sifting through them. Then, Dumbledore smiled.

"I am delighted to hear it, Harold. You have made yourself some very good friends, indeed. May I also say how happy I am to see that you have made friends with young Mr. Malfoy? I am sure you will be a positive influence on him."

Harold nodded and rose from his chair.

"Will that be all, Professor?"

"That will be all, Harold. Oh, and Harold?" Dumbledore said, stopping Harold just as he reached the office door. "Your new caretakers... they wouldn't have had anything to do with the deaths of the Dursleys, would they?"

Harold smirked now and looked back at Dumbledore.

"Come now, sir. Even if I knew, you know I wouldn't tell you."

With that, Harold left Dumbledore's office.

–

The day after the Weighing of the Wands, Rita Skeeter published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Harold. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harold. The article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harold, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all.

The article featured long, drawn-out sentences that Harold had never spoken in his whole life, but which fit well in with the article painting him as the benevolent uncrowned king of Slytherin, who had done away with the House's prejudice by befriending the Gryffindor Muggle-born Hermione Granger.

This all left Harold getting much admiration, not just from the Slytherins for 'taming' Rita Skeeter, but also from the other Houses, for making Slytherin better. The only ones who didn't believe the article were the Weasleys, save for Ginny.

"He rid the House of prejudice?" Weasley spoke up one morning when they were waiting outside the Potions classroom. "What rubbish is this?"

Harold had learned to ignore the babbling of Weasley and his ilk, and instead spent his days in the library with Hermione and Draco, poring over any books they could find to further increase Harold's already impressive wealth of knowledge.

Viktor Krum was in the library a lot, too, and Harold wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there, not that he bothered them, but because groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise to be distracting.

"He's not even good-looking!" she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. "They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing-"

"Wronski Feint!" Draco said, looking mortally offended that Hermione had got the name wrong. Hermione, however, just rolled her eyes at him.

On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit Hogsmeade. Harold, Draco and Hermione decided to go, to get away from everything.

That night, howls sounded across the school grounds as Harold sat at the very top of the Astronomy Tower, looking over everything in boredom.

The gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid, came out of his hut, walking toward the enormous Beauxbatons carriage. He raised his hand and knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands.

Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid, or at least, from the Astronomy Tower it looked as though she was smiling from what Harold's vampire eyes could see.

The two exchanged words, and Hagrid held out a hand to help Madame Maxime down the golden steps of the carriage.

Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harold, curious, exploding into mist and lazily drifting after them.

"Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?" Madame Maxime asked playfully, in a voice that Harold would have thought was beautiful had it not been accompanied by the sight of the woman herself.

"Yeh'll enjoy this," Hagrid said gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y... don' go tellin' anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know."

"Of course not," Madame Maxime said, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

And still they walked, Harold drifting lazily after them still, as they came around the perimeter of the forest, the castle and the lake ending up out of sight, and Harold heard something. Men were shouting up ahead... then came a deafening, earsplitting roar...

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harold materialized some distance away from Hagrid, and crouched low in the darkness, unseen with his cloak wrapped around himself. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Dragons.

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting. Torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground, a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might, a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air, and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Harold watched as, high above him, the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulged with rage. It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream...

Harold had seen enough. Bursting into mist once more, he drifted away toward the castle again.

–

"Dragons?" Hermione whispered the next day as the trio sat in the library. "You're going to face a dragon?"

Harold, looking through Tales of Beedle the Bard, gave an "Mhmm," as he flipped a page in the book.

"Why are you so calm?" Draco asked, looking a bit nervous. "I'm not the one going to fight a dragon, yet I'm scared witless."

"And what would fear accomplish?" Harold asked. "Besides, if that dragon can really kill me, I welcome it to." He gave a soft chuckle. "It would be ironic, given my name..."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, Harold spoke again.

"Hermione."

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book.

"When the Yule Ball comes, will you go with me?" Harold asked, and Hermione looked surprised. "As friends, I mean. I don't want to ask anyone else and give them some false hope that they can be my girlfriend or something like that."

"Well, yes," Hermione said, her cheeks a bit pink. No doubt, she hadn't even imagined being asked, let alone this early. "Of course I'll go with you."

"Well, I guess that leaves me with Pansy," Draco said, looking a bit disgusted. "Not that I'd like going to the ball with a suck-puppy..."

The day of the first task arrived, much faster than Harold had anticipated, and before Harold knew what was happening, Snape came walking down the path between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching him as he approached Harold.

"Dracula, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now. You have to get ready for your first task."

"Okay, Professor," Harold said, standing up. He really would have wanted some blood before the first task. He'd thought he'd have time for it, but evidently, that was not the case.

"Good luck, Harold," Draco said from across the table. "We'll be watching."

Harold left the Great Hall with Snape. He didn't seem like himself. His jaw muscles were tense, and he carried himself more rigidly as he walked.

"Keep a cool head, Dracula," he said as they walked down the stone steps out of the castle. "I don't want you ruining the reputation of Slytherin House by turning tail at this stage."

"Don't worry, Professor. A Dracul never flees," Harold said.

Snape was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harold saw that a tent had been erected, its entance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

"You are to go in here with the other champions," Snape said softly, in his usual menacing voice, "and wait for your turn, Dracula. Mr. Bagman is in there. He shall be explaining to you the procedure." With a stiff nod, Snape walked off, and Harold went inside the tent, his head held high, not a sign of fear on him. Well, he certainly hoped so, considering he didn't actually feel any fear.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harold supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down, and Harold realized that he was the only one who didn't know what the first task was.

"Harold! Good-o!" Bagman said happily, looking around at him. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here... time to fill you in!" Bagman said brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag," he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them, "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different, er, varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else, too... ah, yes... your task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

Harold glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again. Fleur and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths?

And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking... Oh, how Harold would have loved a bite to eat before the first task...

Next thing Harold knew, Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon, the green one. It had the number two around its neck. And Harold knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather determined resignation, that what he had been suspecting was right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet dragon, which had the number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag and out came the blueish-gray dragon, the number one tied around its neck. Knowing what was left, Harold put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the dragon he'd recognized as a Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its miniscule fangs.

"Well, there you are!" Bagman said. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, alright? Now... Harold... could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Certainly," Harold said, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked him a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face.

"Feeling alright, Harold? Anything I can get you?"

_A pint of blood_. Harold wanted to say it, but instead he just shook his head.

"Got a plan?" Bagman asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd like them, you know. I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice further still, "you're the underdog here, Harold... Anything I can do to help..."

"No," Harold said, shaking his head and feeling insulted at being called an underdog. He'd show him underdog... "No, I have everything worked out."

"No one would-" Bagman started, but just then, a whistle blew. "Good lord, I've got to run!" he said in alarm, and he hurried off.

Harold walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, looking green in the face.

Harold went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model.

Harold walked over to Fleur and took her hand, kissing her knuckles.

"You're trembling, draga mea," he spoke, smirking. "But don't worry, show some confidence in yourself."

Fleur glared at him, pulling her hand out of Harold's grasp.

"Please, don't talk to me right now, Monsieur Dracula. I am formulating a plan right now..."

Harold chuckled. "Oh, come now, draga mea, we both know you knew about the dragons beforehand, and have already formulated a plan to get past them. You're only gathering your courage right now, and I have some to spare."

"What do you want wiz me?" Fleur asked, and Harold shrugged.

"I just want to get to know you. Is that so bad?"

"You are only fourteen," Fleur said, only to get another shrug from Harold.

"I don't look it. If anything, I'd say I look closer to your age."

"Maybe you do, but fact remains zat you are only fourteen," Fleur said, tossing back her hair. "You are just a leetle boy."

Harold narrowed his eyes. He was about to yell at the girl, but collected himself quickly, chuckling instead.

"After these tasks, we'll see."

After fifteen minutes of listening to the screamed, yells, and gasps of the crowd, accompanied by Bagman's commentary, they heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and capture the golden egg.

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!"

But he didn't shout out the marks. Harold supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"

Fleur was trembling from head to foot. Harold called after her, "Courage, draga mea, courage!" as she left the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, one of them holding his head high, listening to the crowd, the other holding his head down, avoiding the other's gaze.

The same process started again... "Oh, I'm not sure that was wise!" they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. "Oh... nearly! Careful now... good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"

Ten minutes later, Harold heard the crowd erupt into applause once more... Fleur must have been successful, too. A pause while Fleur's marks were being shown... more clapping... then, for the third time, the whistle.

"And here comes Mr. Krum!" Bagman cried, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harold quite alone.

Harold reached into his pocket and took out a bloodpop. It was better than nothing. He unwrapped it and put it in his mouth, humming. What should he do against the dragon? Maybe... Hm...

"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harold heard Krum's dragon emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing... and... yes, he's got the egg!"

Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass. Krum had finished, and it would be Harold's turn any moment.

He waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. Holding his head high, he walked out through the entrance of the ten. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence.

There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that had been magicked there since he'd last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but Harold ignored them, focusing only on the Horntail.

Harold gave a long sweep of his cloak, and in the blink of an eye, before him sat three stone gargoyles, looking as though they had been forcibly ripped off of a building. Harold waved his hand over them, and the eyes of the gargoyles, coldly staring straight ahead, suddenly came alive. Slowly, the gargoyles rose from their sitting positions, and gave off terrifying shrieks.

Then they turned to Harold, and dropped to their knees, their heads lowered.

"_Your Master commands you now, attack that dragon,_" Harold spoke in Romanian, and the gargoyles slowly rose to their feet again, turned toward the Horntail, gave off those terrifying shrieks, and then took to the air, before flying straight at the Horntail, whose eyes shifted from Harold to the gargoyles.

The gargoyles crashed into the dragon with enough force to lift it off the nest, then started tearing into it with their long, sharp claws.

The Horntail roared and started snapping at the gargoyles as Harold rushed forward, toward the nest. As he got within ten feet of the nest, however, the Horntail turned its head away from the gargoyles trying to tear it apart, and looked at Harold, shooting a jet of flame straight at the young Dracula.

The crowd screamed when the flames made contact with Harold, but to their immense surprise, Harold exploded into a black mist, which moved away from the fire, rematerializing over the nest as Harold, who grabbed the golden egg amongst the real eggs, while the Horntail turned its attention back to the gargoyles with a roar. One of them had just sliced through the dragon's scales with it's claws and into its hide spraying a spurt of blood that spattered the eggs with the dark liquid.

Harold walked off to thundering applause, and gave a wave of his hand. The gargoyles shimmered and disappeared, leaving a confused Horntail, who clambered back onto her nest, back to watching Harold suspiciously.

Dragon keepers were rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Snape was walking briskly toward him, neither looking relieved nor disappointed. He looked like he normally did.

"Good work, Dracula," Snape commented silkily as he lightly pushed Harold toward the entrance of the enclosure, out of it, and into a second tent, where Madam Pomfrey stood, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said in a disgusted tone, pulling Harold toward her. The tent was divided into cubicles. He could make out Cedric's shadow through the canvas, but Cedric didn't seem to be badly injured, even though Harold could smell burnt flesh, as he was sitting up, at least. Madam Pomfrey examined Harold from head to toe, talking furiously all the while. "Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You're very lucky you weren't hurt. But you're all dried up. Here, sit," she said, pushing Harold down on a cot. She waved her wand, and a blood bag dropped into Harold's lap. Madam Pomfrey handed him a straw. "Here. Now, drink. I'll make sure no one sees."

"If Draco or Hermione comes, they can see it. They know," Harold said, and Madam Pomfrey made her way out of the tent. Within moments, Draco and Hermione burst into the tent, just as Harold stuck his straw through the blood bag and started sucking on it.

"You were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "Y-You... That mist... I thought... Oh, Harold!"

Harold merely raised an eyebrow as he kept sucking the blood out of the blood bag. Hermione only just now seemed to notice what he was doing.

"Ew..."

"It's not bad," Harold said, holding out the blood bag to Hermione and Draco. "Care for a sip?"

Draco, to Harold's surprise, shrugged and said, "Alright, I'm game," before leaning down and taking a sip of the blood, straightening up a second later and smacking his lips.

"That was disgusting..." Hermione muttered, but Draco shook his head.

"Actually, it has this kind of metallic taste. It wasn't bad."

"See? He agrees," Harold said as he went back to sipping his blood. Once he'd finished, he put the empty blood bag on the cot and got up.

"Come on, Harold, they'll be putting up your scores," Draco said, still smacking his lips. "Interesting aftertaste."

Harold chuckled, picking up the golden egg and clapping a hand onto Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, my friend, you'd make an excellent vampire."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Draco said with a smirk.

"You were the best, you know," Hermione said. "Cedric transfigured a rock into a dog, trying to make the dragon go for it instead of him-"

"But the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have Diggory than the Labrador, so it burned him pretty back, although he got the egg."

"Fleur tried some kind of charm to put the dragon in a trance," Hermione continued. "It kinda worked, as the dragon got sleepy, but then it snored a jet of flame, and her skirt caught on fire. And Krum, well, he was probably the best after you. He hit the dragon with a Conjunctivitis Curse in the eye. Sadly, though, the dragon trampled its eggs, and you weren't supposed to do any damage to them, so they took marks off for that."

They had reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Horntail had been taken away, Harold could see where the five judges sat, right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

"It marks out of ten from each one," Draco supplied, and Harold saw Madame Maxime raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure nine.

"Could be worse," Draco admitted, smirking.

Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever.

Ludo Bagman... _ten_.

And now, Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand, too... five.

Hermione looked like she was doing the calculations in her head. Then, she smiled brightly.

"You're two points above Krum!" she said happily. "You're in first place!"

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we continue with fourth year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

Christmas Day arrived, and it was time for the Yule Ball. Harold and Draco went to their dormitory to change into their dress robes. Of course, Harold refused to wear dress robes, and instead wore black, handmade shoes, black slacks, a white silk shirt along with a white cravat, a red waistcoat with golden buttons, and a long, black overcoat, the very same overcoat he had been wearing in his reflection in the Mirror of Erised. Over this, he wore, of course, his usual high-collared, black cloak with red lining.

The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black.

They left the common room, Draco wearing high-collared dress robes, with Pansy Parkinson clinging to his arm.

The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Fleur was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-gray satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies.

"Where's Hermione?" Draco asked, looking around.

"Hi, Harold! Hi, Draco!" a girl said as she came up to them, and both Harold and Draco felt their jaws drop.

It was Hermione.

But she didn't look like Hermione at all. In fact, if it wasn't for the scent, he never would have believed it. She had done something with her hair. It was no longer bushy, but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow... or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling, rather nervously.

"You look beautiful," Harold commented, and Hermione blushed.

"Oh, thank you. I was hoping to look extra nice for the occasion. I may get to dance with Viktor, after all."

"Viktor?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "Viktor Krum?"

"Yes, he asked me to the Ball. He was so devastated when he found out I had already been asked. But I promised him a dance, and told him that Harold and I were only going as friends."

The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harold didn't recognize. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights, meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Then, McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"

Hermione and Harold walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through. McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside. They were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest to the door. Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric and Cho Chang were close to Harold, too. Krum and his date, who looked at Krum kind of like how Fleur's date looked at her, were standing behind Harold, who nodded in greeting to Krum, who nodded back.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished. Instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Harold smiled as Hermione beamed around at everybody. He caught sight of Weasley and one of the Patil twins as he neared the top table. Weasley was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Weasley's as he watched Krum and his date, a Hogwarts girl, draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students, and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Crouch, Harold suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley. When the champions and their partners reached the table, Harold made sure to sit as far away from Percy as possible, despite the pointed look he got from him. He had no intention of sitting with that man.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harold picked his up and looked around in confusion. There were no waiters... Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too.

"This must mean so much extra work for the house-elves..." Hermione muttered, looking down at her own menu.

"Hermione, for once, stop thinking about others, and just enjoy yourself," Harold said, placing his order for a bloody steak, which appeared on his plate.

Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.

"Zis is nothing," she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. "At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we 'ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course... zey are like 'uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we 'ave choirs of wood nymphs, 'oo serenade us as we eat. We 'ave none of zis ugly armor in ze 'alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, 'e would be expelled like _zat_." She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harold had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.

"Absolutely right," he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. "Like _that_. Yeah."

"He truly is weak-minded, isn't it?" Hermione asked with a faint laugh as she watched Roger Davies. "He has completely fallen for her allure."

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause. They were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harold and Hermione got up along with the rest of the champions and their partners, making their way onto the brightly lit dance floor as the Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune.

Harold had to admit, he really enjoyed himself, revolving slowly on the spot. He would have to host a ball of his own someday. It was only right.

Very soon, many of the others had also come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Neville Longbottom and Ginny were dancing nearby, and Harold could see Ginny wincing frequently as Longbottom trod on her feet, and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin. However, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

Harold heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe, and the Weird Sisters stopped playing to wild applause, which filled the Hall once more. Harold let go of Hermione and left the dance floor as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster. Hermione was immediately met by Krum, who asked her to dance.

Within minutes, the song ended, and a slow song started playing again. Harold set his eyes on Fleur, who was talking with Roger Davies over a butterbeer. He walked off.

"Excuse me, Miss Delacour," Harold spoke as he reached the two, making sure to lay on his Romanian accent thick. "I was wondering if I may have this dance?"

"Can't you see we're having a drink?" Davies demanded angrily, looking very upset that someone interrupted his time with Fleur.

"You have finished your drink," Harold said simply, staring into his eyes, and Davies blinked, before splashing the contents of his butterbeer bottle in his own face, looking rather dazed.

"So I have..."

"Miss Delacour?"

Fleur looked Harold up and down, then nodded and took his hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

"I 'ave 'eard many zings about you, Count Dracula," Fleur said as they slowly revolved on the dance floor, the very picture of beauty and elegance. "Zey say you are ze descendant of ze first Dracula, and a bloodzirsty vampire 'oo should be killed."

"Is that what they say about me?" Harold asked, giving a soft chuckle. "Yes, I am a descendant of the first Dracula, and yes, I am a vampire, but not bloodthirsty, I assure you. I drink no more than I need, and only from those willing to give up their blood."

"Are you sure about zat?" Fleur asked, staring deeply into his eyes, and he noticed that many eyes were upon them. Without a doubt, they were the most beautiful pair on the dance floor.

"Alright, so maybe there some thirst for blood, but can you blame me?" Harold asked, smirking widely. "You and I, we are so much alike. Both creatures of great beauty and grace, yet so alone in the world. There is really not many who can compare to us, is there, draga mea?"

"You say us, but I am afraid I see none of zat beauty or grace in you," Fleur said, trying to sound disdainful, but Harold just gave another soft chuckle.

"So you say, but we both know the truth, and in time, you will come to admit it. Until then..." With perfect timing, the song stopped, and Harold gave Fleur a bow, before walking off to join Draco and Hermione, who sat at one of the tables with Krum.

–**1995–**

Harold surfaced in the lake, holding both Aleera and the little girl who had been Fleur's prisoner. Having seen Fleur get attacked by grindylows but unable to help her, he couldn't very well leave the little girl there in good conscience. If Aleera was hurt by this...

Obviously, she wasn't, because at that moment both girls opened their eyes. The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise, shouting and screaming, while the girl looked scared and confused. Aleera, however, just pointed at the girl.

"What did you bring her for?"

"I couldn't very well leave her there," Harold said calmly. He hadn't needed a spell or anything to get down. Being a vampire, he didn't actually need to breathe. "Fleur got attacked, and couldn't make it."

"You didn't take the song seriously, did you, Master?" Aleera asked.

He had. He felt rather silly now, but with Aleera's life having been at stake, he didn't feel like risking it.

"In any case, let's get back to shore. I'll help this girl. I don't think she can swim very well," Harold said. If he was capable of it, he would have been blushing for being so silly as to take the song seriously. In any case, he rescued the girl, _and_ came in first. He pulled Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching.

Dumbledore and Bagman stood beaming at Harold from the bank as they swam nearer. Meanwhile, Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.

"Gabrielle! _Gabrielle_! _Is she alive_? _Is she 'urt_?"

Dumbledore and Bagman pulled Harold and Aleera upright. Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime's grip and was hugging her sister.

"It was ze grindylows... zey attacked me... oh, Gabrielle, I zought... I zought..."

"Come here, you," Madam Pomfrey said, appearing out of nowhere. She seized Harold and pulled him over to a small, empty tent, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as though he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears. Madam Pomfrey went over to grab Aleera. She led her over to Harold, gave her a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms, and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.

"Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then turned to Harold. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."

"I couldn't just leave her there," Harold said simply, still feeling stupid for taking her with him.

Fleur bent down and kissed Harold twice on each cheek.

"Zank you."

"I approve, Master," Aleera whispered to Harold, who smirked.

–

Harold really didn't like the daytime, he thought as he walked across the lawns one sunny day. He was so weakened, he could hardly even use half his strength, let alone half his powers...

"'Arold!"

Harold stopped and turned toward the Beauxbatons carriage, to see Fleur making her way toward him through the melting snow. She came up next to him, and together, they made their way toward the castle.

"So, 'ow are you?" Fleur asked, and Harold shrugged.

"I could be better, if it wasn't for the sun," he said. "I much prefer the night."

"Not surprising, considering what you are," Fleur admitted. "I would like to zank you again, for saving my seester from ze lake."

"There was no real threat to her life," Harold said simply, "so there is no need to thank me."

"But you zought zat ze zreat was real, and so you acted as zough it was, and saved my seester," Fleur said, seeming adamant in her belief that Harold had heroically rescued her sister, which, in a way, he had. "She won't stop talking about you now."

"That's nice," Harold said without blinking. He didn't know what she was trying to achieve with this small talk. Was she trying to apologize for her earlier attitude toward him?

"So, what do you zink ze zird task will be?" Fleur asked with a dazzling smile as they made their way into the entrance hall, through it into the Great Hall.

"I am unsure. I try not to think about these things until I am face-to-face with them," Harold said as he moved over to his usual seat at the Slytherin table, Fleur taking a seat next to him. They were some of the first students there.

"I 'ave seen some of ze judges around ze Quidditch pitch. I believe it will 'ave somezing to do wiz underground tunnels."

They were quiet for a while. Then, Fleur said, "I was lying, you know."

"About what?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow.

"During ze ball, when I said zere was nozzing graceful about you," Fleur clarified, looking a bit ashamed of herself. "I was... I was cruel to you, wizzout a real reason for it, and I would like to apologize for it."

"Apology accepted," Harold said immediately. Then, a smirk appeared on his face. "If you will allow me to take you out to dinner next Hogsmeade visit," he added, and Fleur's eyes widened.

Harold thought he saw a blush rising on Fleur's face, but she held her head up high, dignified, and tossed her hair.

"You may take me out to dinner, Count Dracula," she spoke in an official-sounding tone of voice. Harold's smirk widened.

"Excellent."

–

The start of the summer term arrived, and one dinner with Fleur turned into several dinners. Harold didn't even have to hypnotize her to get her to agree to more dinners. She did it out of her own volition, something that he hadn't expected from her. Perhaps it was because she was such a high-class girl, and being seen with an alleged vampire would have smeared her reputation, but she didn't seem to care about that.

Dinners turned into late-night dinners concluded with dancing. They both, they found, loved to dance, and took every opportunity they had to do so. The house-elves down in the kitchens were more than willing to whip up some late-night food, no matter what they requested.

The third task of the Triwizard Tournament was approaching, and Harold still had no idea what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Snape held him back in Potions.

"You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock, Dracula," he told him. "Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."

So at half past eight, Harold left his Draco in the Slytherin common room and went upstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" he asked Harold as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels. She reckons we've got to find treasure."

"Yes, she has shared her theory with me, but I highly doubt it," Harold said, looking quite imposing with his cloak wrapped around himself, showing hardly any of the clothing he wore underneath, except for his cravat. "It will be something extravagant."

They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"They're hedges," Harold said simply, bending to examine the nearest one.

"Hello there!" a cheery voice called.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harold and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harold as he came nearer.

"Well, what d'you think?" Bagman said happily as Harold and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month, and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expression on Cedric's face, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then...

"Maze," Krum grunted.

"That's right!" Bagman said. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"We seemply 'ave to get zrough ze maze?" Fleur asked.

"There will be obstacles," Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures... then there will be spells that must be broken... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champion who is leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harold. "Then Mr. Diggory and Mr. Krum will enter, and finally Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

Harold knew very well the kind of creatures Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, but he had always had a decent amount of control over all manner of beasts, so he was sure he could handle anything that was thrown at him.

"Very well... if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."

"Actually," Fleur spoke as Bagman hurried alongside Harold as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze, "I am feeling quite tired, and I zink I will go back to ze carriage. 'Arold, accompany me?"

"Of course," Harold spoke with a bow, moving over to Fleur, who looped her arm with his.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed.

"I'll wait for you, Harold, shall I?"

"No, it's alright, Mr. Bagman," Harold said. "I can find my way back just fine."

"I 'ave 'ad a very good time zese last few weeks," Fleur said as they walked, arm-in-arm. "I shall be sad to go."

"You don't have to go," Harold said, stopping and turning to face Fleur, staring into her eyes. "You could stay with me, share my life, see what I see, live how I live."

"Are you saying..." Fleur gulped, suddenly sounding nervous. "Are you asking me to...?"

"Will you be my bride, Fleur?" Harold asked, taking Fleur's hands in his own and kissing them. "Will you share eternal life and beauty with me?"

"We... We hardly even know each other, 'Arold," Fleur said, but Harold could hear her heart racing, a heart that, if she would but say yes, would soon stop beating...

"We would have eternity to do so," Harold said, leaning closer. "Life is fleeting, not even a footnote in the history of the world. But eternal life, the life of a Dracul, is eternal."

"I 'ave read up on vampires," Fleur said. "Zey live as long as us."

"Magical vampires, yes, but not vampires descended from Dracula himself. We live forever, just like him. I have his powers, and I need someone to share them with," Harold said, placing a soft kiss on Fleur's lips. "Please let me share it with you."

"I shall need time to zink about zis," Fleur said breathlessly, gulping.

"I have all the time in the world," Harold said, bringing her hands up to kiss them again. "And so can you."

With that, he gave Fleur a deep bow, before spinning and fading away into the night as he walked off.

–

"Ah, to be free!" Sirius said as he sat in the Three Broomsticks, happily chugging down Madam Rosmerta's famous oak-matured mead and feasting on a chicken.

"Tell me, will you always be this... chipper from now on?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat across from Sirius, reading the Daily Prophet.

"Why, bothering you, is it?" Sirius asked, grinning.

"As a matter of fact, it does. I don't like chipper in the mornings. The sun rises, and my powers weaken. I don't like anyone being happy around this time."

"Well, can't help it, my beloved godson," Sirius said. "I'm finally free, after thirteen years, and it feels great!" He grinned widely at Harold. "So, I heard from a certain quadruplet that you proposed to the French bird, Fleur."

"I did," Harold said, nodding, keeping his eyes firmly on the newspaper.

Sirius was silent for a while, then leaned closer and urged, "And...?"

"And she's thinking about it," Harold said simply, not looking up. "I've got nothing if not time..."

"But she doesn't," Sirius said, leaning back. "She'll turn old... and gray... while you stay young and fresh... Can you live with that if she says no?"

"I will be forced to. I love the woman, but not that much. This is merely what one would call love at first sight, and not true love. True love takes years to achieve."

"Tell me about it..." Sirius muttered, scoffing. "Took your mum years to warm up to James. But then again, he was a right prat in our school days... We all were. Remus was the only decent one of the lot of us. He didn't partake in most of our more harmful pranks. Was made prefect, he did."

"Not... Remus Lupin?" Harold asked, finally looking up from his newspaper, and Sirius nodded.

"Yes, him. Why?"

"He taught at Hogwarts last year," Harold said, furrowing his brow in confusion. "But he never made any mention to me about knowing my father..."

"Well, considering he's dead, Wormtail was supposedly dead, and I was supposedly a mass-murderer, it's no surprise that Remus would want to forget most of that time."

–

On the morning of the twenty-fourth of June, the day of the third task, Harold was sitting at the Gryffindor table, reading the Daily Prophet, when Snape came walking alongside the Slytherin table toward him.

"Dracula, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," he said.

"But I thought the task wasn't until tonight, Professor," Harold said politely in confusion.

"I'm aware of that, Dracula," she said. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

She moved away, and after Harold finished his breakfast, he saw Fleur get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward. Wiping his mouth, Harold got up and walked across the Hall, opening the door into the chamber.

Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing in rapid Bulgarian with his dark-haired mother and father. He had inherited his father's hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. She waved at Harold, who waved back, smirking. Then he saw Sirius and the quadruplets standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him. Well, Aleera was looking around with a distasteful expression on her face.

"Hello!" Sirius said excitedly as Harold walked over to them. "Thought we'd swing by and watch the third task. It's during the night, after all."

"I don't like this castle," Aleera spoke, scrunching up her nose. "It's much too bright..."

"It is good to see you too, Aleera," Harold spoke with a smirk.

"Wouldst thou care to giveth us a tour of this grand castle, Master?" Marishka asked, and Harold nodded. Sirius grinned and rubbed his hands together.

"Let's go find Sir Cadogan. I want to mess with him a little."

Harold gave them the grand tour of the place, then they whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle, and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and wasn't talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harold saw that her eyes were red.

There were more courses than usual, but Harold, who had filled up on blood from Pansy, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now?"

Harold got up. The Slytherins all along the table were applauding him. His friends, Sirius, and the quadruplets all wished him luck, and he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Krum.

"Feeling alright, Harold?" Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds, Harold's soles clacking each time they made contact with the stone. "Confident?"

"Naturally," Harold said confidently.

They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy. Harold smirked. Just the way he liked it.

Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill. The air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Moody, McGonagall, and Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," McGonagall said to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

The champions nodded.

"Off you go, then!" Bagman said brightly to the four patrollers, who walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, "Sonorus," and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eighty-five points... Mr. Harold Dracula, from Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "Tied in second place, with eighty points each, Mr. Cedric Diggory, of Hogwarts School, and Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in third place, Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"

Harold could make out Sirius and the quadruplets in the crowd, politely applauding Fleur, halfway up the stands. He gave them a bow of his head, and they bowed back at the waist.

"So... on my whistle, Harold!" Bagman said. "Three... two... one..."

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harold walked leisurely into the maze. No need to rush, after all.

The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment he entered the maze. Harold, however, could see perfectly, despite the darkness.

After about fifty yards, he reached a fork, and took the left path. He heard Bagman's whistle a second time. Krum and Cedric had entered the maze. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right, and sped up.

Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him.

The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork.

"Point Me," he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm.

The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go northwest for the center of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork and go right again as soon as possible.

The path ahead was empty too, and when Harold reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked.

Harold didn't know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. Surely he should have met something by now? It felt as though the maze were luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but his gaze fell only upon Cedric, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side.

Cedric looked severely shaken. The sleeve of his robe was smoking.

"Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts!" he hissed. "They're enormous! I only just got away!"

Bagman's whistle sounded again, and Harold and Cedric looked up.

"All of us are inside now," Harold said, getting a nod from Cedric.

The two glanced at each other, and nodded. Then, Cedric dived out of sight, along another path. Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the skrewts, Harold hurried off again. No matter how capable he was of controlling most manner of beasts, he had no interest in running into the skrewts.

Left... right... left again... Twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Point Me Spell again and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him.

Harold approached it cautiously, staring hard at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way.

"Reducto!" he said.

The spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. He supposed he should have known better. The Reductor Curse was for solid objects. What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back?

He was still hesitating when a scream shattered the silence.

"Fleur?" Harold yelled.

There was silence. He stared all around him. What had happened to her? Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead. He took a deep breath and ran through the enchanted mist.

The world turned upside down. Harold was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely.

Think, he told himself, as all the blood rushed to his head, think...

But not one of the spells he had practiced, or that his ancestor had at his disposal, had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Did he dare move his foot? He had two choices: try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task.

Suddenly, Fleur's scream was heard again. Harold shut his eyes, so he wouldn't be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could away from the grassy ceiling.

Immediately, the world righted itself. Harold fell forward onto his knees onto the wonderfully solid ground. He took a deep, steadying breath, then got up again and hurried forward, looking back over his shoulder as he ran away from the golden mist, which twinkled innocently at him in the moonlight.

He paused at a junction of two paths and looked around for some sign of Fleur. He was sure it had been she who had screamed. What had she met? Was she all right? There was no sign of red sparks... did that mean she had got herself out of trouble, or was she in such trouble that she couldn't reach her wand?

Her scream was heard again, and Harold shot off, following it. This time, the scream lingered, and Harold turned right at a fork, to see her on the ground, with Krum standing over her, apparently holding her with a Cruciatus Curse. Krum looked up, spotting Harold, who noticed that his eyes looked glazed over. However, Harold rushed forward nonetheless, socking Krum in the face, hard. Krum crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Harold rushed up to Fleur, kneeling beside her and cradling her.

"Fleur?" he asked the shivering Fleur, who was just staring up into the sky, gasping. "Fleur!" This got Fleur's attention, and she looked at him, though still wide-eyed and shivering. "I'm going to send up sparks, alright? Teachers will come and get you out, so I need you to stay here," he said as he pulled her over to the hedge, setting her down and leaning her against it.

Fleur took long, deep breaths, and nodded. Harold raised his wand and shot red sparks into the sky. Then, he leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.

"I'll see you later," he said, before rushing off.

He took a left path and hit a dead end, a right, and hit another. Forcing himself to stop, heart hammering, he performed the Four-Point Spell again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest.

He had been hurrying along the new path for a few minutes, when he saw something. Red sparks shot into the sky. That could only be Cedric, since he was the only other champion in the maze.

Harold was alone now, he thought triumphantly. Now, all he needed to do was find the Triwizard Cup, and then he could go back to taking care of Fleur.

Harold moved on, continuing to use the Four-Point Spell, making sure he was moving in the right direction. Every so often he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. Then, as he strode down a long, straight path, he saw movement once again, and his eyes landed on an extraordinary creature, one which he had only seen in picture form, in his Monster Book of Monsters, one that didn't even exist in Castle Dracula.

It was a sphinx. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, was that of a woman. She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Harold as he approached. He raised his wand, hesitating. She was not crouching as if to spring, but pacing from side to side of the path, blocking his progress. Then she spoke, in a deep, hoarse voice.

"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me."

"Well then... Move, please?" Harold asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

"No," she said, continuing to pace. "Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess, I let you pass. Answer wrongly, I attack. Remain silent, I will let you walk away from me unscathed."

"I don't have time for this," Harold said, grabbing his cloak. Then, he swiped it at the sphinx. A crescent moon of green energy was sent flying from the cloak, flying straight through the sphinx, who went wide-eyed. Then, its upper half slowly slid off its lower body, hitting the ground with a _thud_. Scoffing, Harold moved on.

He had to be close now, he had to be... His wand was telling him he was bang on course. As long as he didn't meet anything too horrible, he might have a chance...

Harold broke into a run. He had a choice of paths up ahead. "Point Me!" he whispered again to his wand, and it spun around and pointed him to the right-hand one. He dashed up this one and saw light ahead.

The Triwizard Cup was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away. Smirking triumphantly, Harold broke into a sprint. In seconds, he had reached it, and he was looking forward to seeing Fleur again as he reached for the cup. Then, he froze.

Wait a minute...

No obstacles, other than a few here and there... a distant-looking Krum torturing fellow champions... This was all too easy. Someone didn't want to harm him in this tournament... They wanted him to win! But why?

That was all Harold could think, before a flash of red hit him in the back, and all went black.

–

When Harold woke up, he woke to a slight pain in his back. He slowly blinked his eyes open, to find that he had been tied from neck to ankles with thick ropes to a stone cross. From the looks of things, he was in a graveyard, judging by the many headstones surrounding him. He strained against his bonds, but found to his surprise that he couldn't break them. He felt... weakened...

"Don't bother," a voice growled, though Harold recognized it immediately. Moody... "Those ropes are drenched in holy water. Not to mention that you're tied to a cross, and I have drawn a restraining circle of holy water around you."

Harold chuckled.

"Ah... So, you have read Stoker's fable..."

"I have. Now, shut up, Potter."

Harold twitched in anger at the name. Then, Harold's eyes widened as, before his very eyes, the face of the man in front of him began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth. The mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair was withdrawing into the scalp and turning the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place. Next moment, the magical eyeball had had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it. It rolled away across the grass and continued to swivel in every direction.

Harold saw a man standing before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair. He saw some facial traits that he recognized, and a name popped into his head.

"Barty Crouch... Junior..."

Barty Crouch froze and turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You know of me, Potter?"

"I've heard of you. And the name is Dracula."

The man grinned viciously.

"Of course it is..."

Some way beyond Crouch, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. A portkey, then... Of course. It was so simple! How could Harold not have seen it?

"So... you put my name in the Goblet of Fire... all for this?" he asked, and Crouch nodded, forcing a very large stone cauldron across the ground to the foot of a grave whose headstone read _TOM RIDDLE_. The cauldron was full of what seemed to be water. Harold could hear it slopping around, and it was larger than any cauldron Harold had ever used, or even seen, a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.

The thing inside a bundle of robes at Crouch's feet, which Harold only just noticed, was stirring persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Crouch was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it. A large snake near the headstone slithered away into the darkness.

The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Crouch tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harold heard a high, cold voice say, "_Hurry!_"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds the way it sparked.

"It is ready, Master."

"_Now..._" the cold voice said.

Crouch pulled open on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harold scrunched up his nose in revulsion.

It was as though Crouch had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimey, and blind, but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing on the ground had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harold had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face... no child alive ever had a face like that... flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless. It raised its thin arms, put them around Crouch's neck, and Crouch lifted it. For a moment, Harold saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Crouch lowered the creature into the cauldron. There was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface. Harold heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft _thud_.

Crouch raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave next to Harold's cracked. Harold watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Crouch's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed. It sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

Without hesitation, Crouch pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" he said triumphantly, stretching his right hand out in front of him. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

Without so much as a scream of pain, Crouch sliced off his arm at the middle of his forearm. It fell to the ground, and Crouch bent over, picked it up, and dropped it into the cauldron. The potion turned a burning red. Strangely, Crouch wasn't even gasping in pain. He was just hyperventilating from excitement as he made his way over to Harold.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

Harold felt the point of the dagger penetrate the skin on his right arm, and felt the blood seep across his skin. Crouch sheathed the dagger and reached into his cloak, taking out a glass vial and holding it to Harold's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

He moved back to the cauldron with Harold's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Crouch, his job done, fell to his knees, panting from the blood loss.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened...

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harold, so that he couldn't see Crouch or anything by vapor hanging in the air...

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," the high, cold voice said from behind the steam, and Crouch, cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harold.. and Harold stared back at the face that he had first seen three years prior. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils...

Lord Voldemort had risen again...

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we finish fourth year, and start and skip through most of fifth year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks... It has come to my attention that I made Harry softer in the last chapter, so I tried to remedy that in this chapter.**

–

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," Voldemort said as he looked around at the Death Eaters gathered in the graveyard, all of them people Harold made sure to remember. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter, now known as Harold Dracula, escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance-"

"The moon is beautiful tonight," Harold interrupted suddenly, and Voldemort's head whipped around to look at him.

"What was that?"

"The moon," Harold said, gesturing upward with his head, where a lunar eclipse was taking place, displaying a blood red moon. "The moon's light is lovely tonight, isn't it? Red as blood. It's like a feast in the sky. So very close, yet just out of reach. Unable to be grasped, yet empowering all the same."

"What are you on about?" Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Harold laughed.

"Holy water and crosses!" Harold barked as he strained. Then, the arms of the stone cross snapped. The ropes loosened, and Harold dropped to his feet on the ground, laughing loudly. "On the eve of the blood moon, none of these things will hold me! I thank you for talking long enough for the bloody moon to appear before me, when my powers are at their peak!"

"What is this? Confidence, Dracula?" Voldemort asked, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Do you truly believe that you can stand a chance against me?"

"Dog food will always remain dog food," Harold said simply, making sure to drive the point into Voldemort's skull that he considered him to be an inferior being.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed with rage, and before Harold knew what was happening, he had already raised his wand, and the green light of the Killing Curse came crashing into his chest, sending him tumbling across the ground.

"Do you see?" Voldemort asked, spinning around to face his Death Eaters. "Do you see what foolishness it was to think that he could ever best me?"

"That's twice now..." a whisper reached Voldemort's ears, making his eyes widen as he spun around again, to see Harold rising to his feet.

"That is impossible!" Voldemort yelled. "What are you?"

"I am he that liveth, and was dead... and, behold, I am alive forevermore..." Harold quoted Revelations, a grin slowly spreading on his face. "Come, Lord Voldemort! I haven't danced in ages!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort bellowed, flinging another Killing Curse at Harold, but Harold exploded into a black mist, allowing the curse to pass right through him, before he rematerialized again. He swiped his cloak at Voldemort, firing a crescent moon of green energy at him. Voldemort ducked the horizontal arch, which flew straight into the Death Eater ranks, severing two of them at the waist.

Dodging another Killing Curse, Harold gave Voldemort a bored glance.

"Is that all you can do? Or are you afraid of attracting the attention of the Muggles?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. This was Lord Voldemort, one of the greatest wizards of all time, and all he could do was fling Killing Curses at great speeds?

"Shut up, Potter!" Voldemort hissed, waving his wand in an intricate pattern. A giant snake formed out of fire and charged at Harold, who laughed.

"That's more like it!" he yelled as the snake smashed into him, completely eradicating him, burning him to a crisp. The fire died down, and Voldemort, almost relieved, lowered his wand.

"_Now_ he's dead."

A chuckle was heard echoing through the graveyard. The chuckle turned into a laugh, which, in turn, developed into an almost mad cackle. Voldemort's eyes widened greatly as the ash that was Harold slowly started reforming. The legs reappeared... then the body... then the head... and finally the arms... Harold grinned widely.

"You have never faced a vampire of the House of Dracul before, have you, Tom?" Harold asked with a taunting cackle. "I'll have my blood back now... and your knowledge!"

Without a word, Harold charged forward at an impossible speed, biting down on Voldemort's neck before the man had any time to react. Voldemort cried out in pain as his blood, foul-tasting yet deliciously powerful, flowed into Harold's mouth. Voldemort pressed his wand against Harold's neck, and a silent blasting curse blew Harold's head clean off his shoulders. The body dropped to the ground, and Voldemort stumbled back as Harold's head started regrowing.

"I can see that you have a long way to go..." Harold mumbled as his head fully formed, and he pushed himself to his feet. "Come see me again when you have gotten even more powerful!"

With that, Harold turned into a black mist which charged forward, scooping up the discarded eye and wooden leg, along with a now screaming in fear Crouch, dragging them toward the Triwizard Cup, where Harold rematerialized and grabbed it, disappearing to a scream of rage from Voldemort.

He landed on his feet back in the maze, where Crouch immediately tried crawling away using his new silver arm, but Harold just grabbed his collar and held him in place.

"Oh you, now..." he spoke as he grinned down at Crouch. "We are going to have a long talk, you and I..."

Crouch's fearful eyes stared into Harold's.

Applause and roars of delight reached his ears as the hedges were magically lowered, allowing people to storm the field. They stopped, however, when they saw Harold standing over Barty Crouch. They didn't know who he was, no doubt, but they knew that he had not been part of the Triwizard Tournament. Harold's eyes immediately locked with Dumbledore's.

"He's back," he spoke, throwing Crouch at Dumbledore's feet. "This man has been impersonating Professor Moody all year long. He's the one who put my name in the Goblet of Fire..."

–

Harold sat in a chair next to Fleur's bed in the Hospital Wing, stroking the sleeping girl's hand. Across from them, Viktor Krum sat in one of the beds, looking traumatized. Apparently, Barty Crouch had cast the Imperius Curse on the Quidditch player, and forced him to perform the Cruciatus Curse on Fleur. This didn't mean that Harold would simply forgive him, though.

"'Arold?" Fleur's voice reached his ears, and he saw that the sleeping girl had awoken.

"I am here," Harold spoke softly, kissing the back of her hand as he brought it up to his mouth. "Your mother was here an hour ago. She said she will be back tomorrow to see you."

Fleur nodded. Then, she said, "'Arold, I 'ave been zinking... and my answer is yes."

"Pardon?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I will join wiz you," Fleur said, painfully sitting up and cupping Harold's cheek. "I want to be what you are, see what you see, love what you love."

"Fleur," Harold said, taking her hands in his, "to walk with me, you must die your breathing life and be reborn with me."

"You are my love and my life always."

"Then I give you life eternal, everlasting love, the power over the storm and the beasts of the earth," Harold said. "Walk with me, to be my loving wife forever."

"I will. Yes, yes!"

Harold leaned in and bit down on Fleur's neck, her delicious veela blood flowing into his mouth. Fleur gasped from the pain, but not in a bad way. Harold didn't drink too much, however, and instead pulled back, taking off his cravat and opening up a vein in his neck with his nail, which grew into a claw.

"Fleur, drink and join me in eternal life."

Fleur leaned in and greedily drank of Harold's blood. A smirk appeared on his face. There was no going back now. Now she was his for all eternity, his sireling, his lover, his wife...

Once Fleur had had enough, Harold gently pushed her away, and smirked at her.

"Now sleep, Fleur, and tomorrow, you shall be reborn, a new woman. A creature of the night..."

Fleur obeyed Harold, laying down again and closing her eyes without protest. His smirk widening, Harry pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped Fleur's mouth of the blood that had spilled there. Then, he put on his cravat again, and went back to stroking the back of her hand...

–

"No."

"Pardon?"

Harold was sitting in Dumbledore's office. He was already packed and ready to go home. Dumbledore had asked him to come to Sirius's old house, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place... to _hide_...

"I said no," Harold said, crossing one leg over the other as he interlaced his fingers, staring into Dumbledore's eyes. "I am a Dracul, and a Dracul doesn't hide. If Voldemort can find my castle, then I welcome his challenge."

"Harold, I do not think you understand the danger..." Dumbledore said softly. "Even Sirius-"

"Sirius is nowhere near as powerful as I am. Four times now, Voldemort has killed me, once when I was but a baby, yet he has failed. What makes you think he can be victorious a fifth time?"

"Such arrogance in unbecoming of you," Dumbledore chided, shaking his head. "Harold, I do not think you realize the danger of this situation..."

"No, Professor, with all due respect, it is Voldemort who does not realize the danger of attacking me. The next time we meet, I will kill him. It is that simple," Harold said with a tone of finality.

"You refuse to come, then?"

"I assure you, Professor, that my castle is as protected, if not more so, than Hogwarts."

"Then would you object to your castle being the headquarters of my organization, the Order of the Phoenix?" Dumbledore asked, and Harold nodded.

"Yes, I would."

"Why?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.

"Because my castle is full of all manner of beasts that are not as merciful as I am," Harold said simply. "Even I do not know what they all are."

This was, of course, a lie. Harold had found and attained control of all the beasts and creatures in his castle. He just didn't want this... Order of the Phoenix intruding, looking around in places they shouldn't look.

"If that is all...?" Harold asked, rising from the chair he was sitting in and looking at Dumbledore imperiously. Dumbledore nodded.

"That is all, Harold..." he spoke, disappointment evident in his voice.

Harold gave a courteous bow, before leaving the office. He had a bride to go see, after all...

When he reached the Hospital Wing, he found Fleur sitting up in her bed, looking quite dazed.

"'Arold?" she said, ignoring her mother who was fussing over how pale she looked.

"I am here," Harold spoke, walking up to the bed, getting enveloped in a hug by Fleur, which he returned.

"Maman," Fleur spoke, and started speaking in rapid French with her mother, whose eyes widened in shock as she looked from Fleur to Harold, anger appearing in her eyes. Fleur said something else, getting between Harold and her mother, and he saw how her mother's eyes softened.

"So, you are now a vampire, zen?" her mother spoke in English, and Fleur nodded.

"Oui. I 'ave joined wiz 'Arold as tightly as I possibly could. 'E is mine, and I am 'is."

Madame Delacour closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Then, she exhaled and gave Fleur a calm stare.

"Zis is your decision?"

"Oui, maman."

"Zen I 'ave no objections," Madame Delacour said with a nod.

"Zank you, maman."

"I wish you luck, Count Dracula," Madame Delacour told Harold with a stiff nod. "And so 'elp me, if you mistreat my daughter..."

"The thought would never even cross my mind," Harold said with a bow of his head. When Madame Delacour was gone, he turned to Fleur. "Come, it is time to take you to your new home. Being from Beauxbatons, it may take you a while to warm up to it, but I am sure you will find it enjoyable once you get used to it..."

–

It took a long time for Fleur to get used to all the skeletons, zombies, and other manner of mythical beasts in Harold's castle, and especially the walking giant skeleton, who was swinging a club wherever it went. Not to mention the trolls, the giants, the chimaeras, the manticores, and so on...

But eventually, she got used to their presence, unlike with the quadruplets. She always made mention of Harold's closeness to them, and he didn't try to hide the fact that he had slept with one of them, which put Fleur even more on her guard around them. But she eventually got used to that, too, after another two weeks.

What she couldn't seem to get over was the corpses in the dungeons. Hundreds of skeletons impaled on spikes throughout the dungeons, a memento from Vlad Tepes. She never went down there again after she saw them. Something about them made her look a bit strange, Harold couldn't quite place it. It looked like a difference between revulsion and joy, something he couldn't fathom properly.

Now, Harold was sitting in his throne, and in front of him stood Sirius, giving a report.

"Dumbledore has us in the Ministry. Well, the ones who work there, anyway," Sirius reported, his hands in his pockets. "The Ministry refuses to believe that Voldemort is back, so we have to use only a limited number of people."

"What are those people doing in the Ministry?" Harold asked, resting his chin against his fist.

"He has them guarding something down in the Department of Mysteries. I don't know what it is, he won't tell us, but it's something that involves you and Voldemort, so it must be pretty important."

"Why has he not, if it is so important, told me about it?" Harold asked, to which Sirius shrugged.

"No idea. He claims that you are not ready for it, but from what I've seen, you're more than ready for whatever he can throw at you."

"Indeed..."

"By the way, Dumbledore brought Hermione to Grimmauld Place," Sirius said, a hint of a grin appearing on his face. "I think he wants to bait you into coming to stay there by bringing Hermione as well. He told me to hint at coming to stay before I left."

Harold laughed softly.

"I love Hermione, but she is not that important to me that I will move out of my castle for the summer just to see her," he said, shaking his head. "The headmaster is foolish, truly."

"He believes in love." Sirius gave Harold a calculating look. "I've been meaning to ask... what do you believe in?"

"Simple," Harold said, clenching his fist and smirking at Sirius. "I believe in nothing but power! I believe that there is no true good or evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. I believe Voldemort and I both share that trait, and judging by what I have seen in the Ministry, I am right."

"Are you?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There are people in the Ministry who would condemn me before they even meet me, based solely on what I am, people who consider those of 'unpure' blood to be inferior, who think nothing about who they harm, provided that they get more money. That would be considered evil, no? And yet there are people in the supposedly good government doing just that. Voldemort knows this. That is why he was capable of becoming so powerful last time."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I possess most of Voldemort's memories," Harold said simply. "When I bite someone, I not only ingest their blood, but also their knowledge and memories. I bit Voldemort during our encounter, and had just enough time to ingest most of his memories up until June nineteen seventy-nine."

"Why don't Fleur or the quadruplets have that power?" Sirius asked curiously.

"Because they are not the reincarnation and heir of Vlad III Dracula."

"Oh... Right..."

"'Arold!" came Fleur's agitated voice as she came into the throne room. She looked as beautiful as ever, even more so with her now pale skin. "I just finished breakfast. 'Ow am I supposed to be able to enjoy a good breakfast when ze waiter keep losing 'is 'ead? Literally!"

"Just ignore him, my love," Harold said simply. "You'll learn to do it eventually."

As a child, Harold had loved smacking the waiter skeleton's head off, and he seemed to have done it so many times now that the head refused to remain on its shoulders. Oh well, there was nothing Harold could do about it. He just hoped that Fleur wouldn't be complaining about everything in the castle.

"And 'ow am I supposed to be able to read quietly in ze library when ze books keep flying around? And so does zose Medusa 'eads!"

Harold palmed his face. Having a wife was going to take some getting used to... Luckily, she was getting that job at Gringotts, which would be keeping her a bit occupied...

Sirius left the castle to go back to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harold left the throne room to go to the library with Fleur, shooing the Medusa heads away and coaxing the books back into their shelves. Then, when Fleur had picked out a book and sat down to read, Harold picked out his own book, this one smaller than the rest.

"Horcruxes..." he whispered, reading the title.

–

Sitting at breakfast with Fleur and the quadruplets, all six of them sipping glasses of blood, Harold raised an eyebrow when an owl came swooping into the large dining room, dropping a letter on the table in front of Harold, before flying off once more, no doubt wanting to get away as soon as possible.

"The new book list," Harold said, opening the envelope and taking out two pieces of parchment, one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September, the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year. There were only two new ones, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_, by Miranda Goshawk, and _Defensive Magical Theory_, by Wilbert Slinkhard. Then, Harold blinked and looked at the first parchment again, re-reading it. He had been made a prefect!

He shook the envelope, and a green and silver badge fell out into his open hand. A large P was superimposed on the Slytherin snake.

"They made you a prefect?" Verona asked, ignoring the glare Fleur was sending her way. "That is excellent news, my Lord. Now you have even more power in the school."

"So it would seem," Harold said, glancing at Fleur. Then, he looked to the quadruplets. "Ladies, leave us."

The quadruplets left without a word.

"My love," Harold said, reaching over and taking Fleur's hand in his own. "What is wrong?"

"Nozzing is wrong," Fleur said, but Harold could tell that she was lying. After Harold stared at her for a few seconds, she sighed. "I don't like ze quadruplets..."

"I could tell."

Harold rose from his chair and moved around the table until he stood behind Fleur, his hands on her smooth, cold shoulders. Becoming a vampire had only served to enhance her beauty in Harold's eyes. The pale skin, coupled with the dazzling blue eyes and silver-blond hair...

"What bothers you about them?"

Fleur sighed again. "Zey all covet you, my love," she said as she rose from the chair and turned to face him, leaning into Harold with a hug, which Harold returned. "You are all mine, are you not?"

"As you are mine," Harold said, leaning down and kissing Fleur, who passionately returned the kiss.

The two of them got involved in a passionate tongue war as Harold hurried to unzip her dress, and she quickly undid the buttons on his shirt.

–

"And?"

"And what?" Harold asked Fleur as he stood on the platform, ready to board the Hogwarts Express. Fleur looked mad about something, her arms crossed.

"What am I supposed to do while you're off at school? I am to spend my time alone wiz zose quadruplets?"

"They're not too bad," Harold said, bringing Fleur in for a kiss. "And besides, it is child's play for me to travel from Hogwarts to the castle. I won't be gone for too long."

"You promise?"

"I promise. We have an eternity together, my love," Harold said, kissing her again. "I think you will find that, to us, a week or two is like the blink of an eye."

"I suppose I will 'ave to deal wiz it..." Fleur said, pouting. "But it doesn't mean I like it..."

"Neither do I, my love."

With that, Harold said good-bye to Sirius, and then boarded the train. He had promptly refused Dumbledore's suggestion for a guard, as Voldemort was trying to lay low now that the Ministry refused to acknowledge his return. It would have been counter-productive for him to attack Harold in the middle of the day.

"Hello, Ginny," Harold said, spotting the youngest Weasley child, who almost ran into him in her rush to find an empty compartment.

"Harold! Hi!" Ginny said happily. "Wanna go find a compartment together?"

"I would love to, but I cannot," Harold said, giving a courteous bow. "I have to go to the prefects' compartment and get my so-called orders."

"Oh..." Ginny said. "Well, I can hold a compartment for you with Draco for when you return."

"Thank you, Ginny," Harold said, then moved up the train, finding the prefects' carriage at the very front of the train. Not at all surprising, he found Hermione sitting in one of the compartments with Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw, Pansy Parkinson, and... Weasley?

"What's this?" Harold said, sliding the door open to announce his presence, being awarded with smiles from Hermione and Pansy. "Weasley, you made prefect?"

"Yeah, so?" Weasley demanded, glaring at Harold, who smirked.

"Well, if you're the best Gryffindor's got, I worry for the rest of the House."

The tall Weasley rose and took a threatening step toward Harold, who stood his ground. He noticed that Weasley's fists were clenched.

"Don't push me this year, Dracula," Weasley hissed, and Harold gave a soft chuckle.

"Is that meant to intimidate me? You will have to work harder than that to be frightening, Weasley. Hermione," he said, looking to his Gryffindor friend. "How was your summer?"

"It was good, Harold," Hermione said as Harold stepped around Weasley and sat down in his spot next to Hermione.

"That was my seat, Dracula!" Weasley said, looking outraged, but Harold just looked up at him, smirking.

"Well, it's my seat now, wouldn't you say?"

Weasley gritted his teeth, clenching his fists tighter. He looked ready to take a swing at Harold, but seemed to think better of it, as he sat down in the only other empty seat, next to Goldstein.

–

"A prophecy, you say?"

"That's right."

Harold was sitting in his throne in Castle Dracula, and in front of him stood Draco Malfoy, his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face as he gave his report.

"My father was very specific. He's been given a very important mission: attain a prophecy guarded by the Order of the Phoenix in the Department of Mysteries," Draco said, giving a bow of his head. "A prophecy regarding you and the Dark Lord, the very reason why he came to kill you all those years ago."

"And he told you this?"

"Bragged is more a correct word," Draco said, chuckling. "I believe he thought I would be proud of him for getting such an important task, but he failed miserably at it. He attempted to get Sturgis Podmore, a Phoenix member, to grab the prophecy using the Imperius Curse, but the man went insane."

"Indeed?" Harold asked, leaning back in his throne. "You've done well, Draco. You have come one step closer to eternal life."

"I live to serve the true Dark Lord," Draco said, giving a bow at his waist.

Harold grinned rather viciously. With a sweep of his cloak, he sent Draco back to Hogwarts with a _pop_, allowing Verona to come out of the shadows behind him.

"You have become, I've noticed, rather crueler as of late, Master," she spoke, and Harold looked back at her, grinning still.

"I can't help it. My vampire blood is boiling. I haven't killed, truly killed, anyone for ages, ever since I enrolled at that dreadful school."

"Dreadful, Master? I thought you enjoyed it there?"

"I admit, I did at first. It was enjoyable, toying with the hearts and minds of the people around me, but lately, I have lost interest," Harold said as he slumped in his throne. "I wish to go back to the days when I made a name for myself in Romania."

Verona chuckled. "The Devil Child," she whispered the name Harold had earned himself growing up, preying on villagers near his castle.

"Voldemort is gaining more power," Harold spoke, leaning back in his throne and closing his eyes. "I can feel it. I think it is about time for me... to start sleeping in my coffin..."

A little known fact about Dracula: Although he could go long periods without doing both, sleeping in a coffin filled with soil from his native land greatly enhanced his powers, along with drinking human blood. Not doing either greatly weakened him, and doing only one of the two put him at around half power. Harold had refrained from sleeping in his coffin, as he preferred his king-sized bed, but he supposed he could sleep in the coffin at least once every third night.

–

_**MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM**_

_**DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"**_

_In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation_

_giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of_

_Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_'The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts_

_for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is_

_now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school_

_may be moving in a direction they do not approve.'_

_This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to_

_effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th_

_Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of_

_the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching_

_post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person._

_'That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching_

_staff at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone,_

_so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate_

_success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground_

_feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.'_

_It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the_

_passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position_

_of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.'_

_'This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips_

_with what some are calling the "falling standards" at Hogwarts,' said_

_Weasley. 'The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators_

_and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has_

_been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are_

_delighted to say that she has accepted.'_

_The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from_

_parents of students at Hogwarts._

_'I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is_

_being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Mr. Lucius Malfoy,_

_41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. 'Many of us with our_

_children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of_

_Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to_

_know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'_

_Among those 'eccentric decisions' are undoubtedly the controversial_

_staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included_

_the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half giant Rubeus Hagrid,_

_and delusional ex-Auror 'Mad-Eye' Moody._

_Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme_

_Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief_

_Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the_

_prestigious school of Hogwarts._

_'I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step toward ensuring_

_that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose confidence,'_

_said a Ministry insider last night._

_Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have_

_resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts._

_'Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,' said_

_Madam Marchbanks. 'This is a further disgusting attempt to discredit Albus_

_Dumbledore.' (For a full account of Madam Marchbanks' alleged_

_links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page 17)._

Harold folded his paper with a shake of his head.

"High Inquisitor..." he muttered, a grin appearing on his face. "How very interesting..."

"So, I guess you were right about the Ministry interfering with Hogwarts," Draco said, helping himself to some breakfast. "But this isn't right, is it? I mean, Hogwarts has never been Ministry-controlled, and shouldn't ever be..."

"Well, now we know how we ended up with Umbridge," Hermione hissed, breathing fast as she sat with Harold and Draco at the Slytherin table for once, despite the disapproving looks she got from the Gryffindors. The Slytherins would probably have glared at her as well, but they were too afraid of Harold to do so. "Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's _outrageous_..."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow, only to get a strange look from Hermione.

"What?"

"Just sitting here complaining won't do anything," Harold said as he looked up at the staff table, to see that Umbridge wasn't there. They had been having staring contests these last few days, and Harold believed that they were competing in who had the scariest smile. He was sorry to say that he was probably losing...

Hermione didn't answer, and instead jumped up and said, "Well, come on, we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late..."

But Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Harold's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, black O scrawled in an upper corner.

Umbridge, however, was there at the Divination class that day. Harold was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Draco nudged him and, looking round, he saw Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerfully, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out _Dream Oracles_, look round.

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," Umbridge said with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"

Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag, and looked up expectantly, waiting for class to begin.

After class, Harold hummed to himself, descending the ladder through the trapdoor.

"That inspection could have gone better," he spoke to himself in amusement.

"Are you kidding me? It was like watching a lamb walk to the slaughter," Draco said, shaking his head. "I didn't rightly know who to root for, Trelawney or Umbridge. Mind you, I'd be happy to be rid of both..."

When they reached their shared Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the Gryffindors ten minutes later, Umbridge was already waiting for them in the classroom.

She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered. Harold and Draco told Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of _Defensive Magical Theory_, but before Hermione could ask any questions, Umbridge had called them all to order, and silence fell.

"Wands away," she instructed them all smilingly, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Slowly, Harold raised his hand.

Umbridge seemed to have worked out a strategy for this eventuality, and instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Harold, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered, so the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it, Mr. Dracula?"

"I have already read chapter two," Harold said, grinning.

"Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that, too. I've read the whole book."

Umbridge blinked, but recovered her poise almost instantly.

"Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."

"I said I'd read the book, not that I bothered to remember that drivel," Harold said simply.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed, and her smile took on a dangerous look.

"What was that, dear?"

"I said that I haven't bothered to remember the drivel," Harold said, louder this time, so that the whole class could hear. "That's what it is, drivel. It teaches you nothing about actually defending yourself against anyone."

Umbridge laughed sweetly, a laugh that was like a dagger piercing Harold's ear.

"My dear, who could possibly want to attack you? You're merely Hogwarts students," she said, and Harold knew she was baiting him. Alright, he'd bite.

"Voldemort, for instance."

A collective gasp went through the class at the name, and everyone were now staring at Umbridge and Harold, who were both staring into the other's eyes, one smiling sweetly, the other grinning rather viciously.

"We must learn to defend against him, no?" Harold asked, his eyebrow slowly rising.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Dracula," Umbridge said, staring at Harold with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harold.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Umbridge had rose to her full and unimpressive height, and looked over the class.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He was far from dead," Harold said, "but yes, he's returned."

"Mr.-Dracula-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself!" Umbridge said in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie_."

"It is not a lie!" Harold growled, rising to his feet, towering over Umbridge. Calling him a liar again... "I saw him! I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Dracula!" Umbridge said triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading..."

Harold's blood was boiling. He wanted to lunge at Umbridge, to tear out her fat throat with his teeth, to feast on her corpse, to kill, to maim, to utterly destroy...

But this wasn't the time... He would be hunted... damned... This wouldn't sit well with him.

So he sat down, and waited... Umbridge's time would come... Oh yes...

–

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harold said, sitting in the seedy pub known as the Hog's Head. At his table sat a large group of fellow students, from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. "The topic of this meeting is a form of rebellion, an act of protest against the abysmal form of teaching we receive in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"What do you mean?" Susan Bones of Hufflepuff asked, and Harold grinned.

"What I mean is that we are not getting the education we need, both to defend ourselves, and to pass our OWLs."

In actuality, Harold could care less about his OWLs, let alone the OWLs of his fellow students. He didn't even care that they were getting poor education. All he cared about was the fact that they would be doing this right under Umbridge's very nose, and she would be none the wiser.

"Where's the proof that You-Know-Who's back?" a blond Hufflepuff boy said in a rather aggressive voice.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it-" Hermione began, but was interrupted.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes _him_," the blond boy said, nodding toward Harold, who raised an eyebrow.

"And you are?"

"Zacharias Smith," the boy said, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes you say You-Know-Who's back."

"I saw him," Harold said simply. "He used my blood in a ritual to bring him back to physical form, stronger now than ever before. I fought him, managed to wound him, and got away."

There was no point in revealing to everyone that he had bitten Voldemort and absorbed most of his memories through his blood. That would just be counter-productive, after all.

"I am not going to give you any details regarding the fight, as it is something I would like to forget," Harold spoke in a fake mournful tone, which seemed to garner some sympathy from the women there. "Now, if you want to learn Defense, then we are going to need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we are going to meet, and where we are going to meet," he continued, drawing his cloak closer around himself in an attempt to appear to be remembering the fight against Voldemort. It had been rather fun, but the others didn't need to know that.

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we skip closer and closer to the end! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

–**1996–**

"And where do you think you're going?"

Harold froze as he stood on at the edge of the Forbidden Forest in June nineteen ninety-six. Slowly, he turned around to see none other than High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge standing there, pointing her disappointingly short wand at him. She looked triumphant, somehow.

"You'll be expelled for this, Potter," Umbridge whispered triumphantly as her eyes almost glowed with the glee she was feeling. "The Forbidden Forest is exactly that. Forbidden."

"Very true, but I need to go to the Ministry of Magic," Harold said calmly, "so I thought I might just go in there and borrow one of the school's thestrals. And don't call me Potter."

"But it's your name, isn't it?" Umbridge asked. "Before you became an inferior being, you were once a wizard named Harry Potter, were you not?"

"I think you will find, Professor Umbridge, that it is _you_ who are the inferior being."

Umbridge narrowed her eyes at Harold. "Walk, Potter," she ordered.

"What?" Harold asked, his elegant eyebrow rising slowly.

"You heard me, Potter, I said walk," Umbridge repeated, moving up to Harold and jabbing her wand into his chest. "We are going to have a little talk, you and I, before I take you back to the castle to expel you. I am going to teach you to show me the respect I deserve."

Harold gave a small chuckle as he turned around and started walking into the forest.

"So, you have an even crueler side to you than I first suspected," he said, a vicious grin appearing on his face, unseen by Umbridge. "How interesting."

"Shut up and walk, Potter."

They walked for a good ten minutes, deeper and deeper into the forest, until all they could see through the trees around them was darkness. The air was a bit colder in here, and a deep mist had rolled in. Umbridge didn't know this, of course, but Harold had manipulated the weather as best as he could during their little walk, summoning the mist.

"This is quite far enough, I think," Umbridge said, and Harold spun around to face her, to see that sickly sweet smile once more on her face. "Oh, I am going to enjoy this, Potter. Cruci-"

There was a flash of silver, and the red glow that had built up at the tip of Umbridge's wand died down as her hand was separated from her wrist.

Umbridge's eyes widened at the sudden loss of her hand, and she seemed to be in too great a shock to scream from the pain. The sword that had materialized in Harold's hand flashed again, and this time, her foot was separated from her leg, this time actually making her scream as she collapsed to the ground, the blood pouring from her wounds.

Her screams were sweet music to Harold's ears, and the sword vanished in a cloud of blood red mist. Harold walked over to her, grinning widely.

"What's wrong, superior being? Why don't you stop me? Summon up your familiars! Regrow your limbs! Fight me!"

"Y-You... You monster!" Umbridge shrieked, clutching at her stump of an arm. "HELP ME! HEEELP!"

"You took us far into the forest..." Harold whispered, his grin widening. "So that no one could hear me scream. Well, the same goes for you. No one can hear you scream in here... No one will come to your rescue..."

"W-What a-are you going to do?" Umbridge asked fearfully, but Harold didn't respond. Instead, he just lunged at her, sinking his teeth into her throat and greedily devouring her blood, ignoring her screams for help.

Once she was completely drained, Harold didn't stop. He grabbed Umbridge's arms and pulled, tearing her arms right off the shoulders, then threw them away. Next, he grabbed her legs, and tore them off as well, before finally grabbing her head and ripping it off her shoulders, squeezing the neck to get the last drops of blood out of her.

"And don't call me Potter," Harold hissed as he glared down at the remains, dropping the head to the ground.

Come morning, the remains would be devoured by the thestrals, and all the evidence would be gone. Harold would just blame the acromantulas.

Smirking, Harold spun around. "I thought the smell of blood would bring you here," he spoke.

Standing between two trees, their eyes gleaming eerily, were two thestrals, watching him as though they understood what he was saying, and from Harold's experience with thestrals, they did.

No fewer than six or seven thestrals made their way into the clearing now, and Harold walked up to the closest one, patting it once before getting up on it, lodging his knees behind the wing joints.

"Ministry of Magic, visitor's entrance, London," Harold whispered to the thestral. He then jabbed his heels into the thestral's sides, and the wings on either side extended, the horse crouched slowly, and then rocketed upward so fast and so steeply that Harold had to get a new grip on the creature's mane to make sure not to fall off. He ducked his head as they burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soared out into a blood red sunset.

Harold had only ever moved so fast the last time he was on a thestral. The thestral streaked over the castle, its wide wings hardly beating. The cooling air was slapping Harold's face. Eyes screwing up, he bent as low as possible into the neck of the thestral to protect himself from its slipstream.

He was over the Hogwarts grounds, he had passed Hogsmeade. Harold could see mountains and gullies below him. In the falling darkness, Harold saw small collections of lights as he passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills...

Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon it was only the lights from the Muggle towns that gave him any clue of how far from the ground he was or how very fast he was traveling. Harold's arms were wrapped tightly around the horse's neck.

On they flew through the gathering darkness. Harold's face felt stiff and cold, his legs numb from gripping the thestral's sides so tightly, but he didn't care. He didn't care that he was deaf from the thundering in his ears, or that his mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night air. He was just looking forward to another brush with Voldemort, who had tried to trick him into going to the Ministry of Magic. He didn't need a trick to do that...

The thestral's head suddenly pointed to the ground, and he actually slid forward a few inches along its neck. They were descending finally...

And now, bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides. He could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows.

The thestral landed softly like a shadow in an alley in London, and Harold slid from its back, looking around at the street where an overflowing dumpster stood a short way from a vandalized telephone box. From what Sirius said, that was the visitor's entrance.

"You can go back to Hogwarts and feast," Harold told the thestral, which took flight again.

Harold made his way over to the telephone box and went inside, dialing six-two-four-four-two as he brought the receiver to his ear.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool, female voice sounded inside the box. "Please state your name and business."

"Harold Dracula, here for a late dinner," Harold spoke into the receiver, grinning widely. He still had dried blood around his mouth that he had yet to wipe off.

"Thank you," the cool female voice said. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robe.

A shiny silver badge slid out of the metal chute where returned money usually appeared. Harold took it and glanced at it.

**HAROLD DRACULA**

**Dinner Guest**

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box. Blackness closed over his head, and with a dull grinding noise, he sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic...

–

_S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D._

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

"There it is," Harold whispered, standing in a cathedral-like room, which had hundreds upon hundreds of high shelves stacked with millions of glowing glass orbs. Slowly, Harold stretched out his hand and closed his fingers around the dusty orb's surface. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it.

Right from behind him, a drawling voice said, "Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

A grin slowly spread on Harold's face. "Malfoy," he whispered as he slowly turned around. Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around him, blocking his way left and right. Eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips were pointing directly at his heart.

"To me, Potter," the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy repeated.

"Tell you what, I am in a particularly good mood tonight, Lucius, so I will forgive you for calling me Potter," Harold said, his grin slowly widening. "That is, of course, provided that you allow me to let loose properly tonight..."

"Do you truly think you can fight us, boy?" a harsh female voice asked from the midst of the shadowy figures to Harold's left. "You must be out of your mind!"

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" Harold asked, and he saw Malfoy's eyes widen in fear through the slits in his hood.

Without another word, Harold lunged to his right, sinking his teeth into the throat of the closest Death Eater, hearing a gurgled scream from underneath the hood. Then, displaying amazing strength and using only his mouth, he vaulted the man over himself and, ripping off his head in the process, threw him into the crowd of Death Eaters.

Giving off a menacing laugh, Harold pocketed the prophecy, then threw open his cloak, and from the darkness within it came five wolves made out of blood red mist charging out of it, rushing at the Death Eaters, who all scrambled out of the way. The wolves lunged at three of the Death Eaters, clamping their jaws down around their throats and knocking them to the ground, tearing them to pieces.

Harold ducked under three Stunners and grabbed the closest Death Eater, sinking his teeth into the man's throat and spinning him around, intercepting five Stunners with the man's body, which he drained completely of blood. Harold paused for a moment, holding the man's body up with nothing but his jaws as he gazed over the remaining Death Eaters, who were frozen in shock, their wands pointing at him.

Harold opened his mouth, and the body dropped to the floor. Then, he blew into the air, and the Death Eaters' wandlights went out as though he had just blown out a candle. Panicked noises came from the Death Eaters as all the light they had were the dull lights coming from the orbs on the shelves. Harold burst into mist and Malfoy was heard yelling, "Retreat! Run!"

Harold's menacing laughter echoed through the cathedral-like room as his arm reformed, holding his wand, and fired off a Reducto, which smashed into the knee of one of the running Death Eaters, blowing his leg off.

Harold materialized on top of the Death Eater, who was screaming for help from his running allies. Harold gently, almost lovingly removed the hood of the Death Eater, revealing none other than Antonin Dolohov. Harold grabbed the man's face and stared into his eyes, squeezing, as a bloodthirsty grin made its way onto his face.

"Another one down," he whispered, before biting down on Dolohov's throat, greedily drinking the man's blood.

Then, Harold exploded into mist again, and followed the retreating Death Eaters.

They reached the door out of the Hall of Prophecy, which slammed shut after one of them got through. Malfoy tugged at the door, and Harold materialized behind them.

"It won't open," he whispered, and the Death Eaters all spun around, firing Stunners and Killing Curses, but Harold just went back into mist form and charged forward, materializing in mid-flight and grabbing two Death Eaters' heads, smashing them into the wall and crushing their heads like grapes. He grabbed another Death Eater and savagely twisted the man's head one hundred and eighty degrees, accompanied by a sickening snap from the man's neck.

Just two of them left...

As Malfoy stood by the door, shivering, the other Death Eater gave a panicked cry and charged Harold with his fists raised. Fighting like a Muggle, eh? Harold thought with a grin, raising his hand and catching the man's fist, before violently ripping his arm off. Then, he bit down on the man's throat, draining him of his blood.

"P-Please... Please!" Malfoy begged, and Harold could smell urine leaking from the man. "D-Don't! I'll do anything you want! J-Just don't kill me!"

"Now, now, Lucius, such behavior is unbecoming of you," Harold chided softly, blood dripping from his face. "Face your death like a man!"

With that, Harold charged forward and punched his hands into either side of Malfoy's chest. He gripped the man's lungs and lifted him into the air, before pulling.

Malfoy gave a strangled cry of pain as he was torn into two pieces straight down the middle, showering Harold in his blood. Harold dropped the two pieces to the floor. Then, he laughed, loudly, a laugh that he was sure would have even made Voldemort pause...

With all the Death Eaters in the Hall of Prophecy now dead, Harold opened the doors and slowly walked out, smelling the woman's scent and following it calmly. In her panic, the woman seemed to have gotten lost in the Department of Mysteries, because the scent zigzagged here and there, as though she was unsure where to go.

He reached the large, circular room with all the doors, and could smell that she had been weaving from door to door, trying to find the right one. Following the scent to the latest door, Harold opened it, to see her close the grilles of a lift at the other end of the dark corridor, which jangled and banged its way upward. Harold laughed as he transformed into mist and charged forward, following and passing the lift up to the Atrium, where he materialized again, and waited.

When the lift came banging into view, he saw that the woman had removed her hood, revealing herself to be Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix was leaning against the wall of the lift, her eyes closed, panting in what seemed like relief. When the lift stopped, Bellatrix wrenched open the grilles and charged out, only to come to a stop when she saw Harold, completely drenched in blood, standing right in front of her, a menacing grin on his face.

"Hello, Mrs. Lestrange," he said calmly, his voice the very opposite of the look on his face, which looked quite feral and crazy.

Bellatrix stared fearfully into his eyes. Then, she looked past his shoulder, and her fear seemed to bleed away, to be replaced by confidence. Harold raised an eyebrow, then saw him.

Lord Voldemort was standing in the middle of the Atrium, gazing coldly at Harold, who grinned.

"So, you have killed my Death Eaters, Potter?" Voldemort asked, narrowing his eyes. "You are more powerful than I thought. I am afraid I cannot let you live."

"Haven't we been through this before?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned around and slowly started walking toward Voldemort. "You cannot kill me."

"And you cannot kill me," Voldemort said confidently. "I am immortal."

Harold laughed as he paused in his walk. "There is no such thing as an immortal, Voldemort, we both know that. Everybody dies at one point of another. It's the only constant in this universe... death... Eventually, it comes for us all, some later than others."

"For you, it will come tonight!" Voldemort said as he pointed his wand at Harold. A sickly purple light, a curse, flew at Harold, who easily dodged. The spell hit the security desk, which started to melt.

Voldemort flung curse after curse at Harold, who skillfully dodged. He had memorized Voldemort's tactics, and could easily predict the curses he would fling next, and how to dodge them.

Killing Curse... Bone-breaker hex... Acid Curse... Harold dodged them all, and with every dodge, he moved an inch closer to Voldemort, who hadn't even noticed until he was within reach of Harold. Voldemort's eyes widened, and a nanosecond later, a punch had smashed into his face, which sent him flying.

When Voldemort slammed into the ground, Harold threw out his cloak and summoned five blood wolves, which charged at Voldemort, who summoned a snake made of fire. The snake smashed the wolves back into mist, and headed straight for Harold, smashing right into him.

Harold was burned to a crisp, but just like last time, he slowly reformed, a mad grin on his face. He was no longer covered in blood, but looked insanely happy nonetheless.

"You are even more powerful than the last time we met!" Harold said, laughing. "This is great! A proper fight! Very well then, I'll fling some spells of my own!"

Whipping out his wand, Harold flung a Killing Curse at Voldemort, whose eyes widened as he dodged. The two exchanged spells at at amazing speed, a speed that any normal person would have trouble keeping up with.

All around them, fires roared to life, and Ministry workers started arriving to go to work, only to stop when they saw the duel in front of him. Harold grinned. No one would ever call him a liar again now! This was perfect!

Voldemort seemed to notice as well, as he pointed his wand at Harold and yelled, "Accio Prophecy!"

The prophecy orb made its way out of Harold's pocket and soared toward Voldemort, but Harold flicked his wand, and the orb was sent smashing down into the floor, smashing it to bits.

From within the orb, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, and all movement ceased when it started speaking...

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._"

Harold and Voldemort stared at each other for a second. Then, Voldemort disappeared.

"He was there!" a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail shouted, pointing at the spot where Voldemort had just stood. "I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear, it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!"

"I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!" Fudge gibbered, wearing pajamas under his pinstriped cloak and gasping as though he had just run miles. "Merlin's beard, here... _here_! In the Ministry of Magic! Great heavens above... it doesn't seem possible... my word... how can this be?"

"Do you believe me now, Minister?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow at the Minister, whose eyes bulged as he spotted Harold.

–

_**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS**_

_In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic_

_Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-_

_Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is_

_active once more._

"_It is with great regret that I must confirm that the_

_wizard styling himself Lord... well, you know who I_

_mean... is alive and among us again," said Fudge,_

_looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters._

"_It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass_

_revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown_

_themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ._

_We believe that the dementors are currently taking_

_direction from Lord... Thingy._

"_We urge the magical population to remain vigilant._

_The Ministry is currently publishing guides to_

_elementary home and personal defense that will be_

_delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the_

_coming month."_

_The Minister's statement was met with dismay and_

_alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently_

_as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances_

_that there was "no truth whatsoever in these_

_persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating_

_amongst us once more."_

_Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround_

_are still hazy, though it is believed that He-_

_Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of_

_followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to_

_the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening._

_Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated_

_member of the International Confederation_

_of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,_

_was unavailable for comment last night. He_

_has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not_

_dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting_

_followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize_

_power. Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived..._

"So, I am the Boy Who Lived again..." Harold said as he sat in the dining room of Castle Dracula, chuckling to himself. At the table sat Hermione, Draco, Ginny, and the latest addition to his group of friends, Luna, who was reading her Quibbler upside down and apparently not taking in a word Harold was saying as he read out of the Sunday Prophet. "I hope you don't mind that I brutally slaughtered your coward of a father, Draco."

"Of course not," Draco said, holding his head high. "He was a sniveling coward and a weakling. All he had going for him was his money, which is now mine."

"Do they say anything about the Death Eaters?" Hermione asked, and Harold hummed, turning the page.

"Well, they are confirming that I am a vampire, and that that is how I beat them. This is, however, mere speculation on their part. The Ministry refuses to comment as to what happened down there. It should be embarrassing for them, that not only I, but also a group of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself managed to get into the Ministry."

"It's only a matter of time before the prophecy leaks out, and everyone starts looking to you to lead them," Draco said, interlacing his fingers in front of him.

"Question is, will you?" Hermione asked, making Harold scoff.

"After this school year of being called a liar? I could care less about those fools. If Voldemort wants to come after me, I'll let him, but I cannot bring myself to care if he goes after magical Britain."

"I thought you'd say that," Draco said, nodding. "But why do you say that?"

Harold smirked. "It will cause a nice amount of chaos. I do so love chaos... bloodshed... panic... fear... It is quite intoxicating."

Everyone, save for Luna and Draco, was staring at Harold in shock.

"You've changed this year," Ginny said timidly.

"What did you all expect?" Draco asked with a sneer. "He is the Dark Lord Dracula, the King of Vampires. Did you expect him to run around babying humans?"

"If any of you wish to leave my ranks, I shall, of course, not object," Harold said, looking around at his friends. "However, we will no longer be friends, and I shall forevermore consider you my enemies."

"I..." Hermione said, hesitating. Then, she stood up. "I will not leave you, Harold. You have always been my friend, even when no one else wanted to. I will follow you to whatever end."

"Me too," Draco said, also rising. Ginny rose as well and wordlessly nodded.

Luna finally put down her magazine and smiled her distant smile, looking quite out of it.

"I'm saying what Hermione said, only without actually saying it," she said dreamily. "Plus, this all seems rather interesting, and I wouldn't mind becoming a vampire if that's what it takes."

"No one said anything about turning anyone into a vampire," Harold said with a smirk, "but if you really wish it, I shall take your wish into consideration."

"I also wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you, Harold," Luna said, smiling dreamily, and Harold blinked.

"Thank you, Luna..."

Once everyone had been sent back to Hogwarts, Harold sat down on his throne in his throne room, and was joined by Fleur.

"I 'ave been talking to Marishka," she said, looking thoughtful. "And she told me zat ze last Dracula 'ad all four of zem as mistresses. I wonder, will you be taking any mistresses?"

"Without a doubt, I will. We vampires are on the same level as veela when it comes to sex drive, after all," Harold said as he rose from his throne and moved over to Fleur, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, staring deeply into her eyes. "I trust you have no objections, my love?"

"Not at all," Fleur said breathlessly as they kissed. "As long as it is someone I approve of."

"Like Hermione?"

"Oui."

"And Luna?"

"I don't really know 'er, but from what I 'ave seen, she doesn't appear to be ze kind of girl 'oo would try to steal you from me."

"The Devil himself could not separate us, my love," Harold said, kissing her again.

–

As Harold boarded the Hogwarts Express on September the first, nineteen ninety-six, he drew quite a few looks as he found an empty compartment and sat down, soon joined by Ginny, Draco, and Luna. Hermione had dropped in to say hello, but had to go to the prefects' carriage before she could come join them. Harold had decided against going to the prefects' carriage this year.

"The time is drawing closer, my friends," Harold told his friends as the train started moving. "Eternal life is almost within your reach."

He saw greedy looks on Ginny and Draco's faces, while Luna just smiled her dreamy smile.

"Sounds good," she said, before opening her latest copy of the Quibbler and burying her face in it, humming softly to herself.

"Finally. Took you long enough to decide to turn us," Draco said, crossing his arms. "I've grown tired of waiting."

"Draco, so impatient. You will have to lose that trait when I turn you," Harold said, smirking softly. "You will have all the time in the world, after all."

"By the way, You-Know-Who gave me a mission about a week ago," Draco said, scoffing. "I honestly think it's just some sort of punishment for my father's failure. He has ordered me to kill Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Ginny asked with a laugh. "You-Know-Who himself is afraid to face Dumbledore, and he expects you to kill him? What a fool."

"Like I said, I don't think he actually expects me to kill him. I think he just wants an excuse to kill me as a way of punishing my father for his failure, since he's not alive to be punished himself."

"That's odd, I never expected Voldemort to need a reason to kill someone," Harold said thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin.

"Perhaps he thinks there is the odd chance that you may succeed?" Luna suggested from behind her magazine without looking at them. Everyone looked at each other and shrugged. There was always that possibility.

"By the way, have you heard?" Ginny asked, snickering. "The 'Chosen One,' they call you now. How's that for a nickname?"

"At least they aren't calling me a boy," Harold reasoned with a smirk. "I guess the Ministry hasn't disclosed the brutal nature of my stopping the Death Eaters in the Hall of Prophecies."

"I suppose they don't want the people to have to worry about another Dark Lord," Draco reasoned. "They're in enough of a panic as it is, don't you think?"

"Are we still doing DA meetings this year, Harold?" Luna asked, detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of The Quibbler.

DA was the 'study group' Harold had formed the previous year, where the purpose was to learn defensive magic in an act of rebellion against Umbridge. DA stood for Dracul Armata, which meant Dragon Army.

"That was just an act of rebellion against Umbridge," Harold said. "There is no point now that she's gone."

"You mean dead, right?" Draco asked with a smirk, which Harold returned.

"A lot could have happened in that forest... Like I told Dumbledore, the acromantulas attacked us, and we got separated. I have no idea what happened to her."

"Sure you don't," Ginny said, snickering. Ever since her possession at the hands of Voldemort, Ginny had become steadily darker in nature. She didn't seem to mind bloodshed now as much as she did in her third year. "So, how did you two do in your OWLs?"

"All O's, naturally," Harold said, his smirk widening. Draco crossed his arms and clicked his tongue.

"I got all E's and O's, but it's not like it's going to matter, is it? I mean, I won't have to get a job once I move into the castle, will I?"

"Very true," Harold said with a nod.

Within minutes, Hermione arrived, followed closely by a breathless third-year girl, who stepped inside with her.

"I'm supposed to deliver this to Harold D-Dracula," she faltered, as her eyes met Harold's and she turned scarlet. She was holding out a scroll tied with a violet ribbon. Arching an elegant eyebrow, Harold took the scroll, and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Hermione asked as Harold unrolled it.

"An invitation."

_Harold,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn._

"Who's Professor Slughorn?" Hermione asked, sounding perplexed, and Harold shrugged.

"My father told me about him. He was Potions teacher before Snape," Draco said. "He was supposedly very good, although he had a habit of 'collecting' students in something known as the Slug Club, a group of successful students that were bound to be great. Guess he's found a new recruit. Wonder why he didn't invite me, though..."

"Maybe he's not interested in the children of Death Eaters?" Ginny suggested with a raised eyebrow, and Draco nodded as Harold stood up.

"Well, I had better go see what he wants with me," Harold said, making his way toward the door. "We shall discuss your turning when I return."

–**1998–**

"The war is not going well, my Lord," Draco Malfoy, recent graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry said as he knelt in front of the throne belonging to Harold Dracula. "Not well at all. The Order of the Phoenix is suffering heavy losses, as is the Ministry of Magic. Both sides are weakened, but the Light is the most weakened."

Harold hummed as he played with a silver ring on his finger, adorned with an ugly, black stone.

"Indeed?" he said in amusement. This whole war, all this bloodshed, all this carnage, all this violence... it was very amusing to him. "And how goes the search for my castle."

"I have dropped enough clues in Voldemort's lap that he should be able to find you soon, unless he's dumber than I give him credit for."

"Then there is a chance that I am in for a longer wait then expected..." Harold muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I am growing bored, just sitting here. If it wasn't for the fact that it would take all the fun out of it, I would remove the wards keeping this castle hidden from view..."

"Then, my Lord," Draco hesitated slightly, gulping, "why... why don't you join the frontlines?"

"I have no intention of aiding those who dared call me a liar," Harold said simply. "Besides, there won't be a Light or Dark soon. Voldemort's pawns are already inside the Ministry. It is only a matter of time before it is taken over."

"Harold!" came Sirius's voice as the man came running into the throne room. "I bring news from the frontlines!"

"What is it?" Harold asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Dumbledore is dead," Sirius spoke, making Draco go wide-eyed, while Harry just made an interested noise. "He was just beaten in a duel against Voldemort, who took his wand. Some say he can't be beaten now."

"Hm..." Harold hummed in thought as he sank deeper into his throne, interlacing his fingers in his lap. "I think... I changed my mind..."

"You will help the Ministry, then?" Draco asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Not at all," Harold said, rising from his throne. "I think it is time for a third party to join this war for Britain."

"Ah," Sirius said, a smirk appearing on his face. "So we're against everyone, then?"

"Indeed we are," Harold said as he grabbed his cloak and put it on, wandering down the steps from his throne. "Come, my friends... Let us wage a bloody war that will be spoken of for ages to come..."

Harold raised his wand and pressed it to his throat. With a whispered, "Sonorus," his voice became loud enough to carry through the entire castle. "This is your master, Harold Dracula! All inhabitants of Castle Dracula, prepare for war! Sharpen swords, spears, and axes, shine the armors, arm yourselves! Go to war! Leave none standing!"

All throughout the castle, skeletons rose out of piles in the dungeons, zombies woke from their long slumber, the giants sounded the drums of war...

The entire castle, which had been silent for so long, so dark, was now alight with torches and furnace fires. The ring of hammer on steel was heard through the castle as swords, shields, axes and spearheads were being forged, along with armors for both skeleton and giant alike.

The trees around the castle were fed into roaring furnaces... molten metal poured into casts... red hot metal, beaten by skeleton blacksmiths... armor and weapons were forged from the great furnaces.

"You're really going through with this, aren't you?" Draco asked, his arms crossed three days later as Harold put on his overcoat and strapping a longsword to his hip.

"I am."

"Even if you were to go to war, it would take a number beyond reckoning to bring win it!" Sirius said as Harold walked off, Draco and Sirius following.

"Tens of thousands," Harold responded, nodding.

"But, my Lord, there is no such force!" Draco said as they came out onto a balcony of the castle. Draco suddenly saw and heard the enormous armies laid out below in neat rows and was astounded and awed. He gaped at the vast army below. Tens of thousands of skeletons, zombies, giants, manticores, all manner of wild beasts and demons were down there, armored and armed to the teeth, the humanoid monsters pounding their chests in salute to Harold.

A horn was sounded, signaling the appearance of Harold, and a cheer was heard from the army. Harold raised a hand.

"A new power is rising. Its victory is at hand!"

The army cheered and roared, thumping their long pikes into the ground.

"This night, the land will be stained with the blood of Scotland! March on! Leave none alive!" Harold ordered, raising his hands into the air. "TO WAR!"

The army cheered and roared even louder.

And so, the army marched, appearing and spreading out from John O'Groats to Thurso and Wick, slaughtering all in their way. The Muggles were helpless against them with their Muggle weapons. Headed by Harold, who bit and drained whoever he came across, the army carved a bloody path through Scotland, leaving nothing but bodies impaled on spears, spikes, flagpoles, fences, anything that was sharp. The Muggles called in the military, but against the giants, they stood no chance.

"Zere was a time when seeing such a sight would 'ave sickened me," Fleur Dracula said as she sat at a small table with Harold. They were sitting in the middle of the coastal village of Stromeferry, dining at a small table outside a cafe. All around them, pikes and spears had been jammed into the ground, and people had been impaled on all of them. The streets were literally bathed in blood from man, woman, and child alike.

Yet still they sat there, eating as if nothing was out of the ordinary, watching as the soldiers enjoyed themselves by feasting on the rare few who hadn't been impaled.

"I must be a good influence on you," Harold said with a smirk, sipping a glass of wine. Fleur laughed as she drank her own wine.

"I'd say zat jading me to ze sight of such a gruesome scene would be considered a bad influence."

"Depending on your point of view, of course."

"Sir!" one of the vampires that the quadruplets had turned, serving as a Corporal in Harold's army, said as he ran up to Harold. Three men stood behind him, carrying a flailing teenager, who was crying and screaming for his mother.

"This had better be good, Corporal, you are interrupting our dinner."

"Sir, we have run out of pikes and spears to impale people with."

"Then use wood," Harold said, waving him off.

"We... We are out of wood, sir," the Corporal said, and Harold sighed.

"Well, use flag poles."

"All the flagpoles have been used, sir, even the horizontal ones on the building sides."

Harold grunted and wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked around. He pointed to a street sign.

"See that sign pole, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Off with the signs, use the pole."

"Will do, sir! Any preference for the show, sir?" the Corporal asked, and Harold chuckled, turning to Fleur.

"My love?"

"Vertical," Fleur said with a smirk. She had truly succumbed to her darker instincts in a delightful way.

They watched as a giant was called over. The giant ripped the sign of the metal pole sticking out of the asphalt, grabbed the teenager from the three men, and forced the boy down on the pole, which went straight up through his anus, into his gut.

Together, still dining Harold and Fleur watched as the boy slowly sank down on the pole, screaming the whole time.

"Pity Hermione wasn't here to see this," Harold mused as he bit into his bloody steak, and Fleur nodded in agreement.

If anyone had changed after their turning, it was Hermione. She had become cruel, extremely dark, and got along fabulously with Eleesia. She was back at the castle, waiting with Eleesia to interrogate any prisoners that may be sent back. She had taken to torture like a fish to water. She would have enjoyed seeing the trail of impaled bodies they left behind in their wake.

"We shall wait here, Corporal," Harold told the Corporal after he finished his dinner, rising from his chair. "Send word back to the castle. We need more pikes and spears."

"Yes, sir!"

"Fifty-eight million people in the United Kingdom," Harold said, humming. "We are going to need a _lot_ more pikes..."

–

Scotland was burning...

Five million people (a third of them having fled the country, one left in the wake of the Dark Lord Harold Dracula's armies, which were growing every second), comprising the last third of the country's population, were impaled on pikes. Villages had been taken over, and furnaces had been set up to keep churning out spikes, pikes, and spears for Harold to use to impale his enemies, harmless people who had never done a thing to hurt anyone, let alone him...

Ronald Weasley stood with what remained of the Order of the Phoenix, amidst the impaled bodies of the Scottish population. Vertical, horizontal, they were all impaled in various manners, seemingly each one impaled in a different way. Some had had their guts slashed open, so their entrails were littering the ground beneath them.

Crows had already flocked, feasting on thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of maggot-infested, rotting corpses, tearing out eyes and tongues. This was what remained of Edinburgh: Not a single thing... Buildings had been torn down to make room for more pikes...

It was like something taken out of a nightmare. The fires colored the sunset blood red, the silhouettes of the impaled corpses stretching on as far as the eye could see, crows feasting like there was no tomorrow... Blood was dripping from the corpses like rain from a cloud. Strange thing, Ron would have thought that after a day or two, the blood would have already been drained from their bodies. He supposed he was wrong...

It amazed him how much blood a human body had. This was truly sickening... It really was like rain. He dared not walk any closer to Edinburgh than this, lest he be drenched in it. One corpse closest to them had been flayed, a woman by the looks of it, her skin lying in a pile underneath her, which was currently covered in ants and maggots. A crow poked its head out of the woman's gut, drenched in blood. It swallowed the chunk of meat in its beak, cawed at them, then flew away.

The smell was sickening. That horrid, rancid, odorous stench... It made the bile rise in Ron's throat, and behind him, he heard that a few of the Order members hadn't been as good at controlling themselves as he was. Blood, bile, feces, urine... it was all too much. Ron held it in for another second, and then he vomited.

"By the gods..." he heard a panting Neville whisper behind him, and he looked back, wiping his mouth, to see that Neville was one of those that had vomited as well. "Monster... He's a monster..."

Somewhere amidst the bodies, a groan was heard here and there... Some of them were still alive... This alone made Ron vomit again. To be left like this, slowly sinking down on a pike, left to die all alone with nothing but the crows to keep you company... It had to be horrible, so terrifying, so painful... Yet Ron couldn't move to help them. No one could. They were rooted to the spot, frozen in their horror, hearing the caws, groans, and moans...

"Steady, lads," Moody growled from next to Ron, glaring out at the horror scene with an unflinching gaze. It seemed to only strengthen his resolve, whereas everyone else's morale went out the window at the sight.

–**1999–**

Thomas Collins had not expected this when he woke up that morning. For days now, Scotland had been dark. Rumors had spread of a plague threatening it, and some had whispered about a ghost army that couldn't be killed. Bollocks, Thomas had said. It was just pure bollocks. He had stopped believing in ghost stories a long time ago.

Yet there he was in Carlisle, firing upon an army, headed by what appeared to be giants, of all things! Leading the army of armored skeletons, giants, and bloodied soldiers was a man, wearing a black overcoat and a cloak that made him look like something right out of Bram Stoker's novel. The man was slowly walking toward the military blockade that had been set up in Carlisle, taking fire. Everyone was firing at him, the bullets tearing chunks of flesh off the man's body.

Yet he didn't stop.

The man just wouldn't go down! He just kept walking, no matter what they fired at him! His body was torn to shreds, but right before Thomas's eyes, he seemed to somehow heal, clothes and all. A grenade exploded, blowing the man's lower body to shreds, but the man just kept crawling, slowly growing out his legs, before he got up and started walking again.

The man's face didn't even twitch from pain. He just kept walking, the very image of calmness, and showing a complete lack of emotion. Thomas screamed from fear as he kept firing, hearing his comrades screaming as well.

Not only were bullets useless against the man, but the bombers that had been called in couldn't get through to them. Apparently, there were creatures in the sky, intercepting the planes and crashing them.

The army behind the man had stopped, and it was only the man approaching now. His eyes locked with Thomas's, and Thomas felt as though a hand, with icy fingers, gripped at his heart, trying to squeeze it until it could no longer beat.

The army was now stomping the ground, and a chant was steadily building up, sounding over the gunfire from the soldiers, a chant that sent shivers down Thomas's spine.

"Sulita! Sulita! Omor, omor, cu sulita! Sulita! Omor, omor, cu sulita! Sulita!"

Now, Thomas knew Romanian, due to the fact that he had a Romanian wife, so he knew what that chant meant. It meant "Impale! Impale! Murder, murder, impale! Impale!"

"Such futile resistance..." The man had reached Thomas now, and Thomas froze in fear. The man lashed out, grabbing Thomas around the throat and lifting him into the air easily with a single arm. "After all, an ant with pincers is still just an ant..."

With that, the man sank his teeth into Thomas's throat, making him scream in pain.

The army seemed to take this as their cue, as they charged at the blockade with the giants in the lead.

As the man pulled his head back, and Thomas felt his life leaving him, drained of his blood, he saw it: a wide grin on the man's previously emotionless face. As the army began slaughtering Thomas's friends, he heard a laugh coming from the man, loud and strong, and full of amusement. The laugh of a monster...

The laugh of the Devil.

Thomas was dropped to the ground, and he watched helplessly as his friends were slaughtered, and the man just kept laughing, now running straight into the gunfire... Thomas's eyes closed, and he knew no more...

–

Harold laughed loudly and coldly as he tore through the enemies in Carlisle. The military was sending in more and more troops, and they just ended up getting slaughtered like the rest. The planes carrying bombs were stopped by his manticores, harpies and gargoyles throwing themselves into the planes.

On the ground, the giants roared with joy as they grabbed cars and tanks, swinging them around like clubs. The skeletons and vampires all used their swords, rifles, axes, rocket launchers, etcetera, to destroy anything in their way, impaling their enemies on their pikes and hoisting them into the air, walking with the pikes in their hands and continuing their chant, thoroughly terrifying the enemy.

Harold weaved back and forth through the soldiers, tearing them apart and draining whoever he could. They would be fed blood later on by the other vampires, and would become vampires themselves.

Harold's army grew as the enemy's army shrank. Their casualties became his soldiers, either zombies, ghouls, or vampires. But only if they were somewhat useful to him, like these soldiers. The civilians would be left impaled, a message to any passerby of the cruelty of the Dark Lord Harold Dracula the Impaler.

Satellites were useless against them, because of the gathered mass of magic, which blotted out their location to any satellite, according to the Scottish General Harold had turned. So the military had nothing to go on but the word of the soldiers. Any camera crew that tried to make its way to them was slaughtered before they could start filming. Wouldn't do to have England prepare to face an undead army, after all...

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we reach the end! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...**

–

"Sir!"

Harold looked back as he stood amidst the rubble that was once Manchester. A Scottish General approached him, saluting him.

"What is it, General?" Harold asked. "Can't you see that I am busy watching the show?" he said, gesturing for the scene he had just been watching. Thousands of people were currently being impaled and displayed for the whole world to see.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you wanted to be informed the second the castle was breached," the General said, still saluting him. "It has been."

Harold's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. He hadn't expected his castle to be found for at least another week. He supposed he had underestimated Voldemort.

"How many?"

"Twelve people, sir. It would seem that there are two groups, one group entering from behind, and another entering from the front. Shall I send the army back?"

"No, this whole thing will be over before they would make it," Harold said softly, a grin slowly spreading on his face. "I shall go, and I shall wait for them. The monsters who stayed behind are, I think, enough to keep them a bit occupied."

With a sweep of his cloak, Harold disappeared from sight, and reappeared in his throne room, where he sat down on the throne, crossed his legs, and interlaced his fingers in his lap.

Then, he waited...

Meanwhile, at the entrance to the castle, Voldemort and a group of five Death Eaters, including Barty Crouch Jr., were making their way into Castle Dracula, passing the open drawbridge into the courtyard, which looked quite deserted, though there was a spear here, an axe there, a helmet on a spear which was stabbed into the ground... It looked as though whoever had been there had cleared off in a hurry.

When they reached the front doors to the castle itself, Voldemort was very surprised to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing in front of the doors, a smirk on his face.

"Lord Voldemort," Draco said, enraging Voldemort. This peon dared use his name? Then, however, Draco gave a bow at the waist. "My master, Harold Dracula, bids you welcome to his castle. He hopes that you will come see him as soon as possible."

"Draco, what are you doing here?" Voldemort asked, narrowing his eyes. "You should be at my side, torturing and killing Muggles, and reaping the rewards that follow."

"Sadly, I have no desire to remain at your side, Dark Lord," Draco said, shaking his head. "You see, my master has offered me an even greater reward. Eternal life in exchange for my servitude, whereas you would offer only torture if you were sufficiently enraged. Therefore thank you, but no thanks."

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed, pointing his wand at Draco.

Draco jumped over the Killing Curse, which smashed into the doors, not even scratching them, and in the air, he did a backflip, transforming into a bat, which screeched cheerfully, before flying away.

"My Lord?" Crouch asked hesitantly. "What do we do now?"

As if answering Crouch's question, the thick doors opened on their own, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits once again.

"We go inside."

"Yes, my Lord!"

On the other side of the castle, or rather, under it, the Order of the Phoenix were making their way through a sewer, through which they had entered.

"What a lovely smell you've found, Ron..." Nymphadora Tonks, with teal hair that had a bubblegum pink stripe through it, muttered, her nose scrunching up as she made a disgusted noise.

"Stop your whining," Mad-Eye Moody growled behind her, poking her in the back. "Just keep moving. We don't know what is down here, and I don't plan on sticking around to find out."

"Hello."

Everyone froze at the dreamy voice. Moody pointed his wandlight, and lit up further down the tunnel, where they found Luna Lovegood, wearing a black dress and a dreamy expression on her pale face.

"Welcome to Castle Dracula. We would have preferred it if you took the front door like everybody else," Luna said pleasantly, smiling at them. "This way goes through the dungeons, and I don't think you want to run into Hermione or Eleesia. Those two are... Well, let's just say they're two very unpleasant people to run into if you're not on their side."

"Out of the way, lassie," Moody growled, and Luna's smile widened.

"Oh, I'm not here to stop you. Only to warn you. Harold wishes to end his enemies by himself, and he would be ever so disappointed if Hermione or Eleesia were to get to you first. He's in his throne room right now. I recommend you go back and take the front door. There are fewer monsters there, anyway. Good-bye, Order of the Phoenix, and have a very pleasant day, as it will probably be you last."

Humming a happy tune, Luna turned around and started walking away. As she walked, she turned into a bat, which flew off.

–

In Harold's throne room, the lights were out, and in the corner sat a skeleton at an organ, playing a fast, haunting melody that carried throughout the entire castle, a sort of lure, like the siren's song. The guests would be following the song, and walk right into Harold's waiting arms.

His eyes were closed, and he listened to the melody, moving the foot that wasn't on the ground to the melody, humming it as well.

"Faster," Harold ordered, and the skeleton immediately picked up the pace of the music, its fingers working furiously on the pipe organ.

Meanwhile, in the dungeons of Castle Dracula, The Order members perked up when the music reached their ears, and Moody, leading the group, looked to Ron for an explanation.

"It's Dracula," Ron said, gritting his teeth. "He wants us to come. In his arrogance, he believes that it doesn't matter if we attack him or not. He believes himself to be unbeatable, so he's calling us to him..."

"Well, let's not disappoint him, shall we?" Moody growled as they walked.

Behind them, Remus Lupin was walking quietly, appearing deep in thought. No surprise, really, considering Lupin had now lost all of his best friends, along with the son of his two greatest friends, Lily and James, all because he was too afraid to announce his connection to the Potters while Harold was at school...

A slow clapping was heard, and everyone froze, Moody lighting ahead to show none other than Hermione, also wearing a black dress, which was very low-cut.

"Congratulations on making it this far, Order of the Phoenix," Hermione said, clapping still, a smirk on her face. "It brings me great pleasure in welcoming you all to the dungeons."

She clapped her hands again, harder this time, and the corridor was lit up by hundreds of torches, revealing cells lining each side of the corridor. In those cells were both old and new corpses, chained to the wall, impaled on iron spikes, stabbed with knives, etcetera, all manner of horrors.

"We don't have time for this... Move, missy!" Moody growled, and Hermione gave a very un-Hermione-like giggle, her smirk turning into a bloodthirsty grin.

"But I also want to have some fun... Especially with the weasel and the pudgy one," she said, gesturing for Ron and Neville Longbottom.

"We can handle her," Ron told Moody, who turned to him, his magical eye fixed on Hermione.

"Are you sure, Weasley?"

"Neville?" Ron asked Neville, who clutched his wand tighter.

"I think so," Neville said, nodding.

"Oh, goodie!" Hermione said, clapping her hands. "Very well, then, the rest of you may go to my Master. But you two," she said and pointed at Ron and Neville. "Oh, you two will stay here and play with me."

Ron and Neville both raised their wands and fired spells at Hermione, who displayed inhuman agility as she jumped and twisted in the air, dodging the spells, while the rest of the Order ran on, throwing concerned looks back at the two recently graduated Hogwarts students.

When the Order of the Phoenix came out of the dungeons, they immediately headed up the nearest staircase, following the music. It would be easy finding Harold, especially when the music was playing.

Another woman was heard laughing, and Moody stopped, directing his wandlight to the left, where, in the dark corridor, sat one of the quadruplets, reading a book next to a suit of armor, which looked very menacing, like something a demon would wear.

"You're getting close," the quadruplet said with a smile. "Would you like directions, so you don't keep the Master waiting for too long?"

"What's your game?" Tonks asked, narrowing her eyes at the vampire, who gave a soft laugh.

"My _game_? I am merely eager to see you trying to take on my Lord, the Vampire King Harold Dracula, like the fools you are."

A scream echoed through the corridor, and the quadruplet looked toward the staircase leading down to the dungeons.

"Hm, sounds like your friends are in trouble... But Luna did warn you to go through the front like Voldemort did."

"You-Know-Who is here?" Tonks asked, her eyes wide, and the quadruplet nodded her head.

"Of course. You didn't think you were the only ones who found this place, did you?"

"Where are they?" Moody growled, and the woman hummed to herself, putting a hand on her chin.

"My Master is currently in his throne room, waiting for you, and Voldemort is... on his way. He's closer than you are, I'd say. He's currently on the third floor and moving steadily upward. The big fight might already have started by the time you get there, if you don't hurry..."

"And you'll just let us pass?" Tonks asked, getting a nod from the woman, who smirked.

"Of course! My Master wishes to converse with you before your demise. Especially with the werewolf..."

Lupin couldn't help flinching when he was mentioned. He had suspected that Harold would be less than pleased with him...

"Come on..." Moody growled as he limped off, past the woman, who waved. His magic eye was stuck watching her the whole way through the corridor, to make sure she didn't try to attack from behind. To his surprise, she just rose from the chair and walked the other way.

–

The door to the dark throne room exploded, and in stepped Voldemort, followed by his faithful Death Eaters. Voldemort looked around in the darkness, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth.

"I know you're in here," Voldemort spoke into the darkness, amusement in his voice. "Even when you're hiding, I can feel your presence..."

A chuckle echoed through the throne room, carrying even over the sound of the organ.

"Why on earth would I hide?"

Voldemort's eyes widened when the few torches in the room lit up in their brackets, and faintly illuminated Harold sitting in his throne, his legs crossed with his hands interlaced in his lap.

"Don't dare mistake my patience for cowardice," Harold said simply. A hiss was heard as smoke rose from the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Then, slowly, it started fading away. "Honestly, I was starting to get a bit bored waiting for you."

"Oh?"

"Do you have any idea how dull life gets when there is no one around to challenge you?" Harold asked, rising from his throne, slowly walking toward Voldemort. "There were only three people in this world who could possibly give me a challenge, you, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald. You've killed the latter two, and only made yourself stronger. I am guessing that my blood served to help you with your boost in power?"

"You are sharp, Harold," Voldemort said, taking out his wand slowly. "And now, you shall die. But I suppose I shall indulge your penchant for chitchat before I kill you."

The whole throne room was tense. The Death Eaters didn't dare make a move, and even the skeleton had stopped playing the organ to watch the interaction between the two strongest beings alive.

"I suppose I should thank you, Harold," Voldemort said with a smirk. "Without your blood, I never would have become this strong."

"And I should thank you, Lord Voldemort," Harold said, giving a bow. "If you hadn't accidentally attached a piece of your soul to me that night when you attacked me the first time, I never would have absorbed it and gained your magical knowledge."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "What?" he hissed, and Harold gave a grin.

"That's right. I have stolen your knowledge, Lord Voldemort. We are equals, I should think. Or am I still too powerful for you, I wonder? Especially now that I have your knowledge..."

Voldemort was surprised to see that Harold looked a bit distraught at the prospect of being much more powerful than him.

"Why don't we find out?" Voldemort asked, and before Harold could answer, he had already raised his wand and fired a Killing Curse at Harold, which impacted into his chest with enough force to send him flying, rolling on the floor several times, before coming to a stop at the stairs leading up to his throne.

"That again?" Harold whispered as he slowly got to his feet. "It should be painfully obvious by now that the Killing Curse doesn't work on me."

Harold's wand came out faster than most could blink, and a Killing Curse was sent flying right back at Voldemort, who dodged to the side. Behind him, an unfortunate Death Eater was not fast enough to dodge, and copped the Killing Curse in the face. He crumpled to the floor.

The other Death Eaters took this as their cue, scurrying to the sides to stand along the walls, well out of the way of Voldemort and Harold's duel.

The two stood, staring into each other's eyes, their wands raised, yet neither of them moved.

"Scared, Dracula?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes narrowing at Harold, who smirked.

"Not really. Are you?"

"_Me_, afraid of _you_?" Voldemort asked, laughing a high, cold laugh that sent shivers down the spines of the Death Eaters. "Why should I be?"

Harold raised his wandless hand to show off an ugly black ring on his finger, which made Voldemort go wide-eyed.

"I know your secret," Harold whispered. Voldemort gritted his teeth.

"And you will take it to your grave!"

That was when the duel started...

Voldemort cast spell after spell at Harold, who raised his wand and blocked them, one after the other. Voldemort saw Harold's eyes widen in pleasant surprise when Harold was pushed back inch by inch when the spells smashed against the shield he'd conjured.

"You are strong, I give you that," Harold spoke with a chuckle as the last spell splashed off his shield. "However, you are not strong enough to kill me."

With that, Harold went on the offensive. Voldemort's eyes widened at the speed with which Harold flung his spells and curses at him. Voldemort, however, was much faster after he harnessed the power in Harold's blood, and easily dodged or blocked all the spells Harold threw at him. Unlike Harold, he wasn't pushed back when the spells smashed against his own shield.

The two began a fierce duel, exchanging spells at amazing speeds that the Death Eaters had trouble keeping up with. The onyx floor cracked from the magical power output.

One of Voldemort's spells went over Harold's shield and ricocheted against Harold's throne, smashing into the back of Harold's head and blowing it clean off his shoulders.

Harold's body slumped and dropped to the ground, just in time for footsteps to be heard, and Voldemort spun around to see the remains of the Order of the Phoenix entering the throne room, all of them raising their wands when they saw Voldemort, who just looked at them in disdain.

Then, a chuckle was heard. Voldemort looked back to Harold's body to see it explode into mist, which rematerialized into Harold, who was clapping his hands.

"Bravo, Order of the Phoenix, even without Albus Dumbledore, you still made it this far. However, I have no interest in any of you. You are all too weak for me to bother with. The only one I care to fight is Lord Voldemort, so stay out of this."

Moody growled and raised his wand, but before he could do anything, Harold had already raised his wand. A purple light hit Moody in the chest, flinging him off his feet and causing him to thud painfully against the floor, clutching his chest and wheezing.

"That was a light punishment for interfering. I trust no one else will be opposed to waiting their turn?" Harold asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

"Mad-Eye!" Tonks exclaimed as she rushed up to Moody, helping him to his feet.

"Now, where were we?" Harold asked Voldemort, taking a dueling stance again. Voldemort did the same, and then the duel began again.

Everyone watched in awe as the greatest duel since Dumbledore and Grindelwald's took place. The two flung spells at each other even faster than they had before, one of them gritting his teeth, the other grinning widely.

Harold and Voldemort fired their Killing Curses at the same time. The curses smashed into each other, and a bright green beam of energy connected the two wands with each other, dripping a white substance on the black floor, which disintegrated in a hiss of smoke as soon as it touched the stone.

Voldemort jerked his wand, trying to break the beam, and Harold did the same, twisting and jerking his wand.

Finally, Harold made a violent slashing motion with the wand, and broke the connection, resulting in an explosion that sent both duelists stumbling back several feet.

"Quite the power you have there," Harold said, raising his wand again and giving it a flick. A long whip made of fire formed from his wand, stretching a good thirty feet. He flicked his wand again, and the whip went soaring for Voldemort, who raised his free hand. A ten-foot black shield appeared in front of him, about a foot thick. The whip lashed against the shield, leaving a deep gash in it. Harold flicked his wand once more, and this time, the whip left a deeper gash in the shield. Harold actually raised his arm, throwing real strength as he cracked the burning whip a third time. This time, the snap shattered the black shield into a dozen broken, burning pieces.

The two began exchanging spells once more, this time so fast that no one could register what the first one was before another one was sent flying. Death Eaters dropped like flies as stray spells hit them, and the throne room was getting more and more destroyed as the walls were smashed by more stray spells.

Harold gave a cold, high laugh so very much like Voldemort's.

"This is the most fun I've had in years, Voldemort! Give me more!"

But Voldemort, quite unlike Harold, was beginning to tire. His movements were getting slower, and the blood in his veins seemed to boil for some reason.

Voldemort's Bone-breaker Curse was easily blocked, and he raised his wand, deflecting a Bone-breaker sent right back at him. He hadn't anticipated the red jet of light that came soaring right after the Bone-breaker.

Voldemort was launched through the air, his wand leaving his hand to go soaring toward Harold, who snatched it out of the air. Voldemort landed with a thud on the ground, and Harold adopted a disappointed look.

"You have been defeated, Lord Voldemort. My blood is not yet so refined in you that you can utilize its full power..." he spoke, sounding just as disappointed as he looked. He spun and walked back to his throne, sitting down as Voldemort pushed himself to his feet. "Go, and don't come back until you are stronger. I shall not hide from you."

Voldemort gritted his teeth as he glared at Harold, who merely stared back at him in boredom.

"You're letting me go, just like that?" Voldemort asked, and Harold nodded.

"Yes. You gave me a good workout, and as a reward, I give you your life. Please do not return until you are stronger. And the next time you come, you don't have to bring those peons with you. They will only die."

Voldemort glared at Harold for a few more seconds. Then, he spun and left the throne room, his Death Eaters, the ones who remained, following closely.

"And now, the Order of the Phoenix," Harold spoke, looking over the stunned Order in boredom. "You came here in the hopes of defeating me, but I trust you have by now noticed that such a thing is quite impossible for someone of your level?"

"That doesn't matter," Moody growled, now recovered from the spell Harold had hit him with. "We came here to defeat you, or die trying."

"I'm sure that applies for you, but what of your followers?" Harold asked, looking over the rest. "What about it, hm? Do you care to needlessly throw your lives away in a battle you know you cannot possibly win? What of you, Mr. Lupin? Would you attack the child of your best friends?"

"I..." Lupin started, staring sadly at Harold. "I... can't..."

"Remus!" Kingsley exclaimed. "Did you not see what this monster did to Scotland? Do you not want to avenge the lives he has taken?"

"I do... But I cannot attack him..." Remus said sadly. "I can not, in good conscience, attack James and Lily's boy..."

He turned, and with a glance back at Harold, he left the throne room. Tonks cleared her throat and walked past Moody and Kingsley, walking up to Harold, who raised an eyebrow.

"I never came to attack you. I came to join."

"What?" Moody and Kingsley exclaimed in unison. Tonks looked back at them, then looked to Harold, giving a bow.

"I am at your disposal, Master."

"Oh? What brought this on?" Harold asked in amusement. "For Nymphadora Tonks to ask to join me. I thought you were an avid follower of Dumbledore and his ilk?"

"The way I see it, the Order is done," Tonks said. "It's either you or You-Know-Who. I choose the lesser of two evils."

"Lesser?" Harold asked, chuckling. "Unlike Voldemort, I do not discriminate when I kill. Muggle, Muggle-born, half-blood, pure-blood, it matters not to me. If anything, I'd say I am a bigger monster than Voldemort."

"But you don't harm your subordinates, I have seen that, and You-Know-Who killed my Mum, and my Dad," Tonks said, still bowing. "Will you allow me to serve you?"

Harold stared hard at Tonks. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I shall accept. However, to join me, you must cease to live, and be reborn as a child of the night, a vampire. Do you still want to serve me?"

"If that is what it takes, then yes," Tonks said, and Harold grinned.

"Marvelous. I shall turn you after I deal with these two," he said, gesturing for Moody and Kingsley. "Now, what do I do with you? I don't particularly want to fight you, as it would be a short and boring fight, and you don't wish to leave..."

"We should," he heard Kingsley whisper to Moody. "Let's leave and gather up a large enough force to take him on. Then we'll kill him."

"I would do as he says," Harold said, making Kingsley jump in surprise. "It would be much more prudent to attempt to overwhelm me with numbers. But you had best hurry. My army may have returned by the time you come back. Go, mortals, and do not come back until you can kill me."

Gritting his teeth, Moody spun and left the throne room with Kingsley following.

–_**EPILOGUE**_–

Thirty years had passed...

Castle Dracula, now standing where Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had once stood, was grander than ever, reaching high up into the air, higher than any other castle in the world. It was visible from miles and miles away. Most wards around the place had been taken down, to allow for... visitors...

Harold Dracula, who hadn't aged a day, rose from his king-sized bed, ignoring the annoyed noise coming from the blond woman in the bed. Fleur looked just as beautiful as she always had. If anything, time had only served to make her more beautiful.

Not a day went by where Harold regretted taking her as his wife. It was perfect. She was perfect. She had it all, beauty, grace, kindness, and could be brutal when she had to.

He looked over his other three mistresses, Hermione, Luna, and Nymphadora. He had always refused to call her Tonks, as it was such an ugly name. They were not quite as beautiful as Fleur, but they still possessed great beauty, and that was all Harold needed in his mistresses. It was shallow, he knew that much, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Most of Britain was in ruins. Harold had left enough alive to provide him with sustenance if he or his vampires needed it. The rest of the world was under the control of Lord Voldemort, who had made quick work of the other continents. The Muggle weapons had been dismantled, and wizards had now taken their 'rightful place' as rulers of the Muggles, who were forced into slavery, to be worked like house-elves.

Harold, however, could care less about the rest of the world. He ruled the British Isles, and that was all he needed. Those who had been impaled during Harold's conquest of Britain were still in place. Scotland was uninhabitable, and half of England was as well, along with a third of Wales. Ireland, however, was mostly untouched.

"Good evening, Draco," Harold said as he walked through one of the man corridors of Castle Dracula, finding Draco standing there, leaning against a wall and reading a book.

"Good evening, Harold," Draco greeted, looking up from his book. "I bring news."

"Voldemort again?" Harold asked, perking up, and Draco nodded.

"He's on his way."

"Oh, good. I was looking forward to a nice workout," Harold said, stretching. "It's been three years since the last time he came here. I was starting to worry that he may have given up his quest to vanquish me."

Harold stroked the goatee that he had grown a couple of years ago.

"Yeah, well, it seems that he took some time to gather his strength this time," Draco said with a shrug.

"Could it be that he has gotten smarter?" Harold asked in surprise. He honestly hadn't expected that of Lord Voldemort. For the last thirty years, Voldemort had attacked as soon as he had recovered from the previous fight. Now, however, he seemed to have been recuperating and planning for three years, a new record for him.

"Well, I suppose I should go ready the troops for an assault," Harold said as he walked off. "It will be nice for them to get to experience some bloodshed again after so long."

–

A battle was taking place. All of Castle Dracula was rocked by explosions and heavy thuds. Harold sat in his throne, waiting, as usual.

The doors to his throne room suddenly exploded, and in walked Lord Voldemort, who hadn't aged a day these last thirty years. Even at age one hundred, he was still standing tall and strong, no doubt thanks to Harold's vampire blood rushing through his veins.

"Have you ever tried simply opening the door? It has never been locked, you know," Harold spoke in boredom, resting his cheek against his fist, watching Voldemort walk closer.

"Where is the fun in merely opening a door?" Voldemort asked, his skin where he eyebrow should have been rising slowly. Harold chuckled.

"Very true. I suppose it leaves a greater impression, exploding the door rather than opening it," he admitted with a nod. Then, he slowly rose from his throne and made his way down the steps. "Are you here to try to win back your wand?" he asked, taking out the wand Voldemort had once won from Albus Dumbledore.

Voldemort nodded.

"Good. It has been so long since we last danced," Harold said with a grin. "Do you think you can finally kill me?"

"I can always try, just like I've done so often these last thirty years."

"Time flies, does it not?" Harold asked conversationally, as if he was merely talking about the weather, and not staring down his arch enemy.

In a flash, both men had raised their wands, firing Killing Curses at each other. The two curses collided, forming a beam that connected the two wands. This had happened so many times before, so, looking almost bored, both men slashed their wands, breaking the connection and causing an explosion that shattered the onyx floor, tearing the red velvet carpet to shreds.

The two started flinging spells, blocking and dodging with equal skill. Harold dodged an Acid Curse and fired a Bone-breaker right back at Voldemort, who blocked it and countered with a Killing Curse, which impacted with Harold's chest, sending him stumbling back.

"You try that every time," Harold said, chuckling.

The fight went on, for hours, much longer than anyone else had ever fought. It was a routine for them. They battled each other for hours, and then the loser had to go home with his tail between his legs. So far, after thirty years, Harold had yet to lose.

"Expelliarmus!" Harold said, noticing that Voldemort was getting slower. The red light impacted with Voldemort's chest, causing him to fly back, his wand, his fiftieth, if Harold wasn't mistaken, soaring into Harold's free hand.

Voldemort, panting, looked up as Harold approached him, glaring hatefully at the Vampire King.

"I have hit you with the Killing Curse at least fifty times, if not more than that... You claim not to be immortal, yet how can you not die?"

"Very well, Lord Voldemort, I shall tell you," Harold said, staring down imperiously at the fallen Dark Lord. "You see, for every soul I devour, I take another life into myself. So it is not me you're killing every time you murder me. It is someone else entirely. I have thousands of lives in my blood, so you will have to kill me thousands of times before you can finally end me."

Voldemort's eyes widened, and Harold turned his back on Voldemort, walking back to his throne.

"As always, I look forward to an eternity of battle with you, Lord Voldemort. Now go, and take your soldiers with you, before they all die at the hands of my forces."

Voldemort gritted his teeth, glaring at Harold for a few more moments, before getting to his feet and sweeping out of the throne room.

"Dear me," Harold said as he sat down again, looking around. "It seems that I will need to redecorate once more..." he muttered as he looked around the destroyed throne room, taking in the shattered walls, torn banners, destroyed armors, and so on.

–

When Harold returned to bed that night, he found his wife and his mistresses wide awake, but still in bed. Fleur stretched and gave off a delightful purr as she looked at Harold, who was currently undressing.

"'Arold," she said. At Harold's request, she had kept her French accent, because he found it so enchanting. "We 'eard noises earlier. Ze 'ole castle was shaking... What 'appened?"

"Oh, it was nothing," Harold said, unbuttoning his shirt. "It was just Voldemort showing up with another force. I took care of it."

"It's been three years since the last time," Hermione said, blinking. "He seems to have been biding his time this time."

"Yes, he was a touch more powerful this time. He lasted almost four hours in battle, as opposed to last time's three and a half hours."

"I still can't get over how powerful the two of you are," Nymphadora said, her hair turning blood red as she watched Harold undress. "None of us would last even a minute against Voldemort, yet you can go on for hours... I don't think anyone has ever lasted an hour in a duel, let alone four hours."

Harold just hummed as he got into bed, between Hermione and Fleur, both of whom snuggled into him.

Just another day, another challenger... It was getting pretty boring, he had to admit.

The next day, Harold sat in his throne, when the doors were kicked open, and in rushed a... Muggle?

"A Muggle?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "How did you get in here?"

"I fought my way here," the Muggle said, and Harold noticed a whip hanging from his waist. Could it be...?

"Well, congratulations, mortal, on making it to my throne room," Harold said, slowly clapping his hands. "May I ask the name of this new challenger?"

"Belmont... Adrian Belmont..." the Muggle said, making Harold's eyes widen in pleasant surprise. A large smile appeared on his face, and he laughed.

"A Belmont!" he exclaimed happily, rising from his throne. The Muggle, a physically fit man dressed in a long, black trench coat, army boots, cargo pants, and a muscle shirt, tensed as Harold slowly made his way down the steps from his throne. "Marvelous! I had thought your line extinct! I am very pleased to see that I was wrong!"

Adrian Belmont took the whip off his hip and uncoiled it, letting it drop to the floor.

"Ah, and that is the Vampire Killer of legends, the whip Jonathan Morris used to bring my ancestor to his knees..."

"It is," Adrian confirmed with a nod.

"Can you do the same with me, I wonder?" Harold inquired curiously, tilting his head to the side, noticing how Adrian's grip tightened on the whip.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

"How very true. Come, boy! Let us dance!" Harold exclaimed, then threw his hand out, giving a sweep of his cloak. Three blood wolves charged at Adrian, who cracked the whip three times, and Harold was very pleased to see the wolves explode into mist as soon as they were hit.

Adrian cracked his whip again, and Harold raised an arm. He was surprised, however, when the whip cut straight through his forearm like a knife through butter. His arm fell to the floor and dissolved into dust. In an instant, however, his arm reformed.

"The whip is as powerful as the legends say... the Bane of Vampires..." Harold mumbled. Then, he grinned. "Good! Come, Adrian Belmont!"

With that, the two charged at each other.

–

**So, what do you think? Drop a review and let me know!**


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